Tempis Fugit

My Lord I’m terrible.

It feels as if I didn’t have a yesterday. As if my weekend was jammed into the past twelve hours. Which [expletive deleted] sucks. Because five of those twelve hours were spent at church with my Dad, and the other seven? Well, three of them were spent writing the story I’ve been working on for months (11 pages, Microsoft Word TimesNR size 12), so where were the last four? Not sure exactly. Maundering about, I suppose.

In short, I am a [expletive deleted] idiot. I do this all the time. Leave it up til the last day, without intending to, and then not being able to do it at all because of the levels of stress. Let’s take a look at what I’m on about.

-English, long essay. I should have done this on the holidays while I had the chance. 1500 words, I’m anticipating it should take me maybe three hours to do. Because I’m like that.
-Intro Calc, four activities, each taking about an hour, give or take. Leaning towards give.
-Chem, not due.
-Human bio, not due.
-Piano lesson tomorrow. I’ve injured my right hand, somehow. Also need to play a duet with Ben Caddy, my most hated rival who turns out not to be so bad when you’re on speaking terms with him. I’m nowhere near ready to perform.

Again, it seems like a reasonable thing to shoot myself. Bah! School should not be this stressing. I’m quite tempted to walk up to Mr Watson and say, "[expletive deleted] your essay, it’s not worth it."
He would actually understand where I’m coming from, but bound by duty, would send me to someone who would sort me out. And, being the not-so-typical little [expletive deleted] that I am, I am lachrymose by nature and experience. This is all very bad news for me.

I have school tomorrow. it is 8.20pm. Here’s my plan, I guess.
Plan A. Go to sleep, wake up at around 4.30, and pray, work, and pray somemore.
Plan B. Stay home and scream. Ignore my piano lesson and every other obligation.
Plan C. Improvise.
Plan D. Kill Mr Gillies, Mrs Slawomirsky, and Ben Caddy. Mr W’s too cool to kill. I like this plan the best.
Plan E. Suicide.


"A scar is not ugly. It is proof that you have survived something."


2 thoughts on “Tempis Fugit

  1. Ivy says:

    Heya John, you’re still procrastinating. Need any help with your work boy? Maybe not with Calculus, I don’t think I can do that yet, but certainly I can write essays, even if they’re not up to par with yours.

  2. curee says:

    whats going on huh huh well whats up?

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