Sleepwalking my way through life: What if my brain gets pregnant?



What if my brain gets pregnant?

I should really be writing the second half of my reflective essay, but I really cannot be fucked.

I want to tell you about my day, or my weekend, but I feel as though my writing is going to slip into fucked up thinking mode where no one understands what I'm saying, bar me. Which is never fun.

I was going to say that my weekend was different, but it wasn't. I saw Marie all day Saturday where we ate the most delicious fajitas and ate the most disgusting pop-corn. I had had my haircut earlier that day, and the straightening serum (Yes, I got my hair straightened) stank to high heavens, meaning that for a good part of the day Marie refused to sit near me. And the same old mind-fucking happened all over again.

Class is about to start, so I'd better go and make up the answers to some English questions.
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