In better a better time I thought I would get the work done. And with it done, so would pause my negligent habits.
I awoke and reached for a finger of Maker's. The evidence of my failure painted on the walls. The whisky softened the din in my dome.
I steeled my resolve. Swearing that the fresh paint represented a fresh start I forsook the day before it began.
Dismissing my responsibility of class, a relative novelty in my benign existience, I headed to the liquor store.

Feeling positive, as one is inclined to feel when the goal seems simple and within a short grasp, I relished my first sip of beer at noon
and lit up a Lucky Strike. My throat was hoarse from the previous night, a time which I thought was my last night of smoking,
As I am ought to do, I quashed concerns of cancer and tried to enjoy the moment.

"You started late last night," I thought soothing my self-esteem. "You've got all day now. You're still committed to that 4.0
and there is a lot of work ahead of you this week. Skipping class? Merely a necessary evil. Make this day worth it"

I never ceased in my labor, save to get a fresh beer and maybe smoke a cigarette. When the job was done, I was done with smoking, again, finally.

As the day turned into dusk I was increasingly sloppy in my work. It was becoming clear as my vision was becoming blurry, i would again fail.

In my naive optimism, I hoped to show my work completed, hazy with happiness and hops, on /fit/. And announce my triumph with a tripcode.