Oh man.
I'm starting to mess up again, I can feel it.
I've got about four stories due that have piled up in my Journalism class.
I just showed up to Cartooning for the first time in about two weeks.
I'm going to have to miss my field trip tomorrow because I left my folder with the permission slip at a friend's house.
And I'm going to have trouble calling up my debate partners and apologizing for missing out on class today and double-check we're still meeting tomorrow because their phone numbers were in the same notebook.

This is always how it goes.

I suppose if I actually learned from most of my mistakes, I would have stopped this sort of behavior before it picked up such inertia.
Instead, I've just got to make myself tie up all these loose ends and get back on top of things before I lose my chances of earning any sort of respectable grade altogether.

Not cool, subconscious; not cool at all.

And regarding physician-assisted suicide: dirty commie hippos. How the hell am I supposed to present a number of rational and persuasive arguments free of any sort of emotional subtext against it? The only reasonable viewpoint makes it seem as though packs of roving M.D.'s prowl the streets, tattered labcoats bulging with hypodermics and poorly-written prescriptions. A chill wind whistling through the dank underbelly of the city brings the sounds of their passing to terrified ears, huddled close beneath the paltry light of a single bare bulb. The harsh luminescence paints frightful caricatures ten feet tall along the far wall; the youngest cower as the sonorous call to feed echoes through the forgotten masonry of ages past.

Do you have insurance?