So yeah, I'm working on a paper that's due tomorrow and I got this brilliant idea that there was a quote from another book that would help my paper. So I went digging through the massive stacks of books that make up the majority of the mess in my room to find it. Naturally it was on the bottom of one of the stacks. So my dumb ass gets the bright idea that maybe I can jenga that motherfucker out.
Next thing I know I'm at the bottom of a book avalanche. Not hurt thankfully, but tired now from having to restack the books. And the cat is staring at me with this angry/scared look for disturbing his sleep by almost dying.
Who knew that being an English major could be so hazardous?