The alarm rings. Once. Twice. Maybe three times. Possibly four. But all of that, I ignore. It's warm beneath the covers, there is comfort in the pitch darkness of the room. And so I sleep.
And I wake—with a start. It is time to get up. To do something. Breakfast—or lunch is dull and tasteless. I turn to study Management. But wait—there is something more interesting. I had better check this out.
The time drags by on weighted wheels. I've become less productive. And it's not that I don't know it, it's just that I'm too tired to care. To write, even, is painful. Tomorrow. Tomorrow must be a better day, right?
--Reeths
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