Hangnails and Wombats

Yes, once again, I stayed up till an ungodly hour – or at least one less godly than when I should’ve gone to sleep – for no justifiable reason. Viscious cycles are like that: they start off fine – enjoyable even – then there’s the whole downward spiral thing, and that’s a real bummer. Kinda like hangnails.

So I’m not so happy with myself right now. Then again, maybe I ought not to blame myself. It WAS partially due to the advice of this little talking wombat that’s running around my room, who sometimes tells me to do things. His name is Horace. He smells funny.

P.S. Also, he says he can do backflips, but I’ve never seen him do it. I think he’s lying. Wombats always lie. Stupid wombats.

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