Procrastinating after Procrastinating

Do you think that if I had brought all the wards home, I'd be safe from disappointment? Perhaps ten of them pasted on my door would symbolize a web that catches false hopes and repels them back to hell. 

I may look cute in bangs but I have compromised the health of my forehead. I haven't felt this many potential pimple spawns since the peak of puberty mixed with marching band sweat. Perhaps I am overthinking, but I feel as if I should keep my hair out of my face even if it makes me look like a shiny-egg potato. Ah, I need a new kind of hair accessory. 

At this point in time, I should really be sleeping, or transcribing a classroom conversation, but I'm not. The day has long gone and my virtual cat, Shiba Inu, and monkey specifically reminded me that I should use the day to prepare for the next! But instead I went out for free food, sipped some alcohol and came home depressed. Such is the life of a fine procrastinator. 

Take me home afterwards.