Today in my teenage angst, I realized I'm having a love affair with the library.
More specifically, this cubicle. My semester schedule has allowed me to spend about four hours there a day; and I have been loving it.
Every time I discover someone else sitting there I feel like my cubicle is cheating on me. Though I do acknowledge its inanimate state and subsequently deduce that its being coerced into cheating on me.
This brown smudge is my cubicle's 'blood spot'. I know its not actually blood but I watch too much Criminal Minds and like to imagine the circumstances that put it there.
I think I'm becoming a masochist.