Ugh. Good freakin’ morning, all.
I don’t like AIMS, guys. I do not like them near or far, I do not like them in a car. I do not like them with a fox, I do not like them in a box.
I do not like AIMS and ham. I do not like them, Sam I Am.
I’m so flipping tired. I feel like… I don’t even know. I feel like I’m gonna pass out during the AIMS, as long as my hand doesn’t cramp up from writing so much. Then that’ll keep me awake.
Oh, I remember the glory days as a freshman. We could come into school at 10 instead of… 8. I mean, maybe it is the normal time, and maybe it’s no added misery, but I still know, in the back of my mind, that I could be getting up in a half an hour, instead of -1 hour and 15 minutes.
Well, I guess I gotta just suck it up and do it. No use whining.
Love and AIMS,
(P.S., is it just me, or does AIMS look like it should be a viral disease or something?)