I don't mind working until nine or ten at night. Doesn't bother me. But 8am--or 5, 6, or 7am, for that matter--I complain about. And having to work at 8am every morning hasn't gone well for me.
Generally too discombobulated upon waking to manufacture--or give a rip about manufacturing--new outfits, I arrive to class bathing in the smoke of last night's outing, with the wrong class materials, toothpaste inexcusably far down my blouse, shirt buttons incorrectly matched, and sweating from the hustle from apartment to metro to institute--convinced that the 'warning' I received about tardiness to class wasn't a joke. Time ... is something that kills me.
What I'm saying is: I don't work well with 8am.
But my Mon-Wed-Fri 8am class ended today! Hallelujah and good f,ing riddance, my friends. This class has been brutal.
And now I'm free free free . until I start my new class on Monday at 7:30am. ...
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1 comment:
the description of your arrival to class just made my day. that's what i look like right now.
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