𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘌𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 ☆ 𝘕𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

☾𝙘𝙝. 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙮 𝙨𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 ☾

❃゜・。。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。。・゜❃

ex•haust•ed (adjective):

drained of one's physical or mental resources; very tired.

❃゜・。。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。。・゜❃

(I started school so the last updates will be much slower)

The deadline of when Norman is to be sent back already is enough of a subtle stressor for me, along with my stupid ass finals AND a concert I was supposed to go to with Charlie tonight since he scored free tickets and only had me going out of the four tickets (since I was the only one that liked the artist).

Some of my classes let me do them early and on the final day is when we would present them, but some made us wait, which I found even worse than public speaking.

Why can't you at least give us a hint on what it is then just spring it on us??

I was focusing in English on all the information Mr. Katz was doing, but it just wasn't sticking in my head.

C'mon. Focus.

I write down important things he was saying, zoning out every so often.

When I look down at my notepad, I realize I had various random lines drawn over my notes.

Is that what happens when I zone out??

Are you shitting me?!

I erase the lines carefully and rewrite the words it got in the way of, then realize I'm falling behind with my notes.

I end up getting most of the notes, then asking the infamous Alex Hammond over Discord if I can copy his notes.

He can't send me a picture due to Discord's stupid file limit, so we do it over the voice chats with his video feed.

"Thanks bro." I said, logging out of the voice channel.

I prepare to get ready for my next class, and Norman, not needing to use the iPad anymore, just messes around with my professor's cube as usual and keeps himself distracted while I'm in class.

I had come to learn early in the year to just keep a yoga mat in my room so I didn't have to go all the way downstairs in the storage closet to get one every day.

It was embarrassing to do yoga in front of the albino, especially since even after almost a whole school year of doing it, I was still terrible at it.

She probably isn't a great teacher. I'm sure I'd really like this if she wasn't such a bitch about us not being flexible enough.

I told Norman to go into the closet again whenever I do yoga, and he does so silently, closing the door behind him.

We were doing this thing called the Wounded Peacock. And astoundingly, few kids in the class are executing it perfectly with no issues.

I couldn't do it. At least, not as well as the kids who most likely do this for a living.

God damnit! This looks nothing like a wounded peacock too!

How stupid!

I attempt to execute most of the pose when a voice interrupts me from behind.

"Inhale. Lift your torso. You're doing good so far, nice form."

Oh my god, it was Norman.