The Master Procrastinator is.....IN
Study, why you be so interminably dull? *shakes fist at sky*
I'm such a Pisces. It's disgusting, how truly Piscean I am. I simply cannot abide boring tasks, and I'm so easily distracted from them that Ritalin seems indicated. I swear to God, I've just spent the better part of ten minutes staring at a used tissue on my desk wondering how I managed to unconsciously ball it up so it resembles an infinity symbol suffering a violent temporal paradox.
This is more interestesting to me than the five activity plans I must complete today. Clearly, more caffeine is in order.
Something has clicked in my head this last week. I'm feeling like myself again for the first time in ages. This is A Very Good Thing.
I've just had a long overdue discussion with The Gonzalez about the Law of Returns. She does not appear willing or able to grasp the disparity inherent in requesting affection by wrapping her claws around my ankle and sinking her teeth in my foot.
We had our NAIDOC at work yesterday. For you non-Aussies, that stands for National Aboriginal Islander Day Observance Celebration. When you work in a prison, it stands for Not Another Infernal Day Of Contraband-smuggling. Lots of visitors, a heap of very cool indigenous performance art, but sweet Lord it does your head in trying to simultaneously keep your eyes on a hundred pairs of hands ALL DAY LONG. But the sniffer dog was very cute with his little rolled-up reward towel. And he was a lot better at his job than the rest of us.
There was a massive buffet in the staff room after shift, and I hit that mofo like it was Dean goddamn Winchester. I'm regretting this overindulgence today because I mixed several foods that have no affiliation with each other whatsoever, and they've done explosive things to my colon. Things that make me suspect the feast was laced with mercury fulminate. I don't think our chef is that evil. She's a psycho pan-throwing prima donna, and you wanna pick your times to go asking if there is any cheese left, but I don't think her imbalances extend to mine-blasting the digestive tracts of the staff. Yet.
Jesus Christ, what am I talking at you about? I have to go study. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WILL SOMEBODY MAKE ME GO STUDY?
I'm such a Pisces. It's disgusting, how truly Piscean I am. I simply cannot abide boring tasks, and I'm so easily distracted from them that Ritalin seems indicated. I swear to God, I've just spent the better part of ten minutes staring at a used tissue on my desk wondering how I managed to unconsciously ball it up so it resembles an infinity symbol suffering a violent temporal paradox.
This is more interestesting to me than the five activity plans I must complete today. Clearly, more caffeine is in order.
Something has clicked in my head this last week. I'm feeling like myself again for the first time in ages. This is A Very Good Thing.
I've just had a long overdue discussion with The Gonzalez about the Law of Returns. She does not appear willing or able to grasp the disparity inherent in requesting affection by wrapping her claws around my ankle and sinking her teeth in my foot.
We had our NAIDOC at work yesterday. For you non-Aussies, that stands for National Aboriginal Islander Day Observance Celebration. When you work in a prison, it stands for Not Another Infernal Day Of Contraband-smuggling. Lots of visitors, a heap of very cool indigenous performance art, but sweet Lord it does your head in trying to simultaneously keep your eyes on a hundred pairs of hands ALL DAY LONG. But the sniffer dog was very cute with his little rolled-up reward towel. And he was a lot better at his job than the rest of us.
There was a massive buffet in the staff room after shift, and I hit that mofo like it was Dean goddamn Winchester. I'm regretting this overindulgence today because I mixed several foods that have no affiliation with each other whatsoever, and they've done explosive things to my colon. Things that make me suspect the feast was laced with mercury fulminate. I don't think our chef is that evil. She's a psycho pan-throwing prima donna, and you wanna pick your times to go asking if there is any cheese left, but I don't think her imbalances extend to mine-blasting the digestive tracts of the staff. Yet.
Jesus Christ, what am I talking at you about? I have to go study. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WILL SOMEBODY MAKE ME GO STUDY?