And Isn't it an Unfornate Happenstance, Don't You Think?
A little bit too much of an unfortunate happenstance.
I spent my entire day yesterday, and the majority of my night, working on a paper, which was due this evening. I failed to make satisfactory progress yesterday, so I wound up calling off of work this morning, so that I might actually turn something in before the deadline which was not the literary equivalent of a heaping mound of organic waste product.
I spent my morning, and a decent part of my afternoon, hammering out something which I would not blush to own, only to discover upon arriving at class, that the professor had pushed the deadline to the end of the school year, to give us time to get him something polished.
Gratefulness and rage mingled momentarily, giving way to maniacal laughter. I found the email telling us that he was giving the extension in my spam folder. How it got there, I know not. He was not offering us any used cars, or massages we wouldn't forget, so I could not fathom what gmail was thinking; I believe it did this to me out of spite, because I refuse to use Chrome.
On the bright side, although the quantity of caffeine I consumed last night probably shortened my life, and certainly left me without appetite for the better part of the day--I was Clive, not Joe--I have one less project on which I may procrastinate, and all the time in the world with which to finish my last assignments.
I spent my entire day yesterday, and the majority of my night, working on a paper, which was due this evening. I failed to make satisfactory progress yesterday, so I wound up calling off of work this morning, so that I might actually turn something in before the deadline which was not the literary equivalent of a heaping mound of organic waste product.
I spent my morning, and a decent part of my afternoon, hammering out something which I would not blush to own, only to discover upon arriving at class, that the professor had pushed the deadline to the end of the school year, to give us time to get him something polished.
Gratefulness and rage mingled momentarily, giving way to maniacal laughter. I found the email telling us that he was giving the extension in my spam folder. How it got there, I know not. He was not offering us any used cars, or massages we wouldn't forget, so I could not fathom what gmail was thinking; I believe it did this to me out of spite, because I refuse to use Chrome.
On the bright side, although the quantity of caffeine I consumed last night probably shortened my life, and certainly left me without appetite for the better part of the day--I was Clive, not Joe--I have one less project on which I may procrastinate, and all the time in the world with which to finish my last assignments.
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