Right now, you stare into that glaring screen of distraction, with an untouched minimized work window, and a cluttered desktop of conversations and sites. You can't blame your self because you were equally distracted all this while. If you were to punish your self, would you?
Week four, where foul language plays accompaniment to verbal frustration. And that red bull as a delusional energy source. Not forgetting those potential addiction which lies shallow within your clustered desktop to complete the equation of procrastination.
I can hear a voice, telling me to halt for a second. I have not touch my draft since its amazing two hundred words accomplishment. A thousand three hundred more to go, I will be back if I reach another enlightenment of four hundred words.
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