It seems that it's hard for a procrastinator not to procrastinate. Today, I was supposed to start taking care of a few of the things that I should've taken care of by now. But a little bit of sick is still clinging to my throat and lungs, and that was enough for me to go all Little Orphan Annie and start singing about Tomorrow again. Today, I'm not that sick. If I had something already scheduled, I'm nowhere near sick enough that I would have cancelled it. But for some reason, this hint of sick was all I needed to not call about apartments or about school (I never did get a response from the email I sent) or about my work schedule for the week. Apparently a tickley throat and a stuffy nose are also too much to endure writing through. One more day wasted. One less day to do something.
I'm grateful for cream of wheat with raisins (20).
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