This is the first time this has happened since I went to see my parents, and there was only one that weekend, in which I helped set-up the party for my Dad.
Today was suppose to be a day of cleaning. The kitchen smells like vomit because of the dishes in the sink. The floor of my room is covered in books, comics, magazines, mail, and papers; the plan was to clean it up.
Did I do this? NO!
Last night, I was up until three, writing one of those letters that will never be sent. I slept until nine this morning, missing all the good cartoons. I finished a book. I screwed around with Illustrator. I answered some e-mail. I watched the last two episodes of Firefly, again.
I didn't accomplish a thing.
I'm not sure if this was a good day.
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