I’m Just Happy To Be Home

Some days are like Facebook: A little frustrating and slow to start up. I did not get enough sleep. It was raining outside. I forgot to wear colour (Yep. Black pants, black top, black cardigan. I looked like a waitress).

The day picked up for a while, though, like it usually does. It wan’t until my last class in the afternoon that I was ready to log out (I’m going too far with this metaphor, aren’t I?). It was a make-up class because of ANZAC Day tomorrow. I could only stay for half an hour, but I thought I’d go so I could give my notes to the people in class (remember that workshopping thing?). I explained this to the tutor, feeling all saintly and selfless for making an appearance for the sake of others. Then I opened my backpack and realised I hadn’t packed the notes. Awkward! This was my metaphorical mis-typed password (it’s hard to stop). It wasn’t entirely pointless. I still contributed to the class discussion and got to show off my avant-garde waitress trend (Like!) but I must say, I’m glad to be home in my dressing gown and birdy pyjamas.

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