Waking up early has never agreed with me. Ever. All the pent up energy makes me buzz with hyperactivity. And I end up not knowing what to do, just simmering under the lid. Seeing and discovering things relevant to my particular interest only alleviates my adrenaline rush. I can't be dopey faced before breakfast. That's socially unacceptable, frowned upon. But heck, I'm no alchemist. My damned heart is a two-faced traitor.
Monday, Monday, Monday. In rhythm to the conga line. Apprehension. The wait. Urgh, the wait. Exactly 24 hours left. Sigh.
Tingling with excitement. Imagine if tomorrow was below the par. That would suck beyond the feeling of shame losing to over-spending, thick-pocketed, arrogant and boastful but swagg-less neighbors and archrivals, 6-1. De Gea, Y U NO SAVE THE GOALS?! Okay, rambling.
Optimism is vital. Hold on to it. Everything will turn out okay. Maybe even exceeding expectations.
Shut up. Stop smiling.
Stupid dingbat.
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