Sometimes your friends make you do things that you don't really want to do. Then again, sometimes your friends make you do things that you would've regretted not doing. This instance I'm about to tell you about just so happens to be both. I was sitting at work one day, talking to my friend on Google chat. It was good times. Anyway, I then decided that I had to go do some work because when I'm at work, that's probably what I should be doing. When I returned to my work station, I realized that my best friend had pressured me into doing something that I really had no intention of doing for like another 8 years. HE MADE ME WRITE ON MY BLOG! YOU BIG JERKL!
Anyway, now that I'm here, I guess I'd better write something, huh? Well, mister smarty pants... what would you like me to say? Would do you want me to talk about? Huh? HUH?!? Yeah, that's what I thought. You don't even curr, do you? Well, fine. Then I'm just going to talk about whatever I dang well pleenz.
This is finals week. I'm just about done. In fact, I just took a test in my persuasion class today. I feel like it went alright. You know... I'm trying to live by that philosophy "hope for the best; expect the worst." It seems to be working out well. Everything is much better since I've started something I did regularly before finals started... SLEEP. Yeah, there was a period there when I got a toal of 13 hours for three nights. Needless to say, it S-U-C-K-E-D SUCKED. I would be a good cheerleader. I fit at least 2 of the three qualifications:
1. I can count loudly to an audience
2. I have a decent sense of rhythm
3. I'm great at massacring dances
Furthermore, I think insomnia would be the worst condition to have. Good heavens. This is not how I've always been, however. Yes, that's right. Once upon a time I held the position that sleep was for the utmost, non-DEW-drinking pansies. I strived to deprive myself of this weak "necessity" known as "sleep." All-nighters were a regular occurrence for me. Midnight TB runs, likewise. Indeed, I was once a dark warrior of the night, but then it happened--the day none of us ever expect will come. I got tired. That's right! I got tired, and I didn't know what to do about it. I searched incessantly for a cure to this madness... something, ANYTHING that would offer me sweet repose from the tension behind my eyes (it felt like my optical nerves were being tugged at, like the reigns of a miniature demon whore teamster). Then I found it. The cure. No, not the band, although I did find them, too. The cure to my tiredness. You wanna know what it schwas? Well, I'ma tell you what it schwas. I'ma tell you what it schwas before you can say poopty pyoopty paynts! The cure was SLEEP! Yeah, go figure. A full 8 hours (or so) of sleep did the trick! Wow, I'm retarded.
But doesn't that make you just as much so? You know, for reading all of this? Or does it mean you're less so because besides writing it, I actually went back and proofread it? I don't know. In fact, I don't know much. What I do know, though, is that school is pretty much done and through and over with. That I can do.
