Every day, waking up, eating breakfast, messing around, then getting dressed, packing my backpack and off to the library I go. Not much really happens during the day, except for new material crammed in my brain and hoping enough sleep spindles and enough REM happened for me to permanently recall things. And hoping that this epic three-day romance between differential equations and my brain will actually happen. Maybe it will click tomorrow like it did just days before the final last semester. Or maybe I'll be floundering around on the test. Wait, no, maybe I won't. I won't. If psych class taught me one thing, it's to envision success to be successful. Oh and a bunch of things about schizophrenic art and sleep that I don't actually care about.
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