Friday, June 27

Never a good sign

I knew things were not going to be great when, somehow, in my sleep, I thought it was Friday. When I woke up, I immediately knew it was, in fact, not Friday, but I still had a crushing sense of disappointment. I bravely soldiered on, however, and got to work on time and everything. And then I promptly burnt my finger on the toaster. Fine. This was all before my morning Dew, of course. After a little sugar and caffeine, I'll be fine. Alas, no. Because this afternoon, somehow I managed to gauge my arm with the heel of my shoe. Don't ask me how; the answer would involve diagrams and complicated algorithms, and I think pi is somehow involved. Fuck pi.

Bygones. Soon, it will be Friday, and all will be right with the world. And then, once Saturday is over, no more weddings! Until October.

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