An egocentric post to satisfy the cravings for an unpredictable, childish, easily tickled Id.
I have seven reasons to study.
Random fact: I like my Hello Panda fillings frozen hard. They just taste better that way. Unfortunately, I'm already sick of sweet stuff.
I need therapy. I want Rorscharch ink blots, psychoanalyst complete with a beard, and then I want to be told I'm afraid of my psychoanalyst.
Headaches suck, and I needed a one hour nap to offset one.
Oh look! A butterfly! Oh crap, I'm afraid of butterflies.
How can it be that I'm not really studying, and yet I am, considering how I can rattle off about what I've studied.
Geraldine wants to be a renowned psychologist. I don't want to burst her bubble, but personally I think she's better off a dental surgeon. That's okay hun, you can study my books. Dear me, a lot runs in the family. To think I can still be the sore thumb. Wanting to study psychology already says a lot about a person, and I shall be cryptic and not reveal it til my next post. For now, I just wanna plop on a couch, and play the cuckoo while she asks me "How do you feel about that?" That seems a lot easier. And I'll scream at her "Didn't I just say I was depressed?!"
The sweet smell of the day before two exams.
Oh Id, don't you see how ridiculous you are?
Stop. No more.
