I don't know if the time indicator is accurate on this here blog, but please let me describe the particular circumstances under which my tiny, frozen fingers type: It's a brisk 37 degrees F according to the results of Googleing 'weather right now gainesvile fl'. It's 6:05 am. I'm at Deja Brew. I'm about 3/4 of the way done with a midterm paper who I began working on at appx 8pm. (Yes, 'who'. I've spent so much time on this piece, it's more like a stubborn child who will not fucking grow up already than a term paper). My nipples are so hard, the only appropriate use for them at this bitter moment in time would be to cut glass. Save the diamonds, people, please. I have a nipple. I also have a spare, jic.
I'm actually feeling great, though. The coffee girl just started dating a friend of mine and is successfully getting in with me by attentively refilling my coffee cup.
I absolutely should not be sharing any of this with you. I'm not finished. I'm not really close to it. And my nips will not leave me alone. It's painful
--Mosephine cannot get over this nip thing. Ow.
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