THAT kind of day.

WHEREIN...

you wake up an hour later than you intended.

you forego a shower for the fourth?...fifth? day in a row. because you're only gonna get dirtier.

your hair decides it keeps no secrets.

your clothes fit badly and you can't decide if it's just because you washed them or you're gaining weight.

you rush out of the house with toothpaste in the corners of your mouth.

you go to work in the costume shop:

and you sew on an industrial machine for the first time UNsupervised;

you fold fabric and swat spiders off your blue jeans;

you hit your head on the above mentioned sewing machine.

oh, now, after a few hours your clothes are fitting fine.

you should be working.

you should be more efficient.

you should waste less time.

you shower.

you waste time.

you go to class.

you realize too late that your fly was most probably open for the two hours you spent in class.

you love midnight bike rides and don't want to go indoors to face your laptop and the paper yet to be written.

you are pleased by how your shadow's hair cut looks in the street lights.

you try to work.

you're not sure about this paper you're writing: you might be writing too familiarly, not formal enough. ??

you realize that your wealthy, spoiled roommate never says "thank you", and that "thank you" still means something.

you fill eighteen hours with good and bad that all melds into a haze called mondaytuesday.