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IT'S FRIDAY, I'M IN LOVE.

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|  written in slumber  by matryosha  | There are days when even your morning coffee does not taste the same; you try your hardest, in vain, to figure out how to fix it. After helplessly staring at it, like how Alice would through a looking glass, you sigh and just settle. You know days like this will pass anyway. Then your plate of pancakes does not look as appetizing as its thought in your head two nights ago, When you tossed and turned in your bed with the strangest pancake craving you have ever experienced in you entire existence. You draw images on top of them with your maple syrup, sigh, and convince yourself: This, too, shall pass. Breakfast is finished. The most important meal of your day sucked, and you do not know how the rest of the day would go. And it's a Friday.  "Of all days," you mutter to yourself. You sit and stare blankly around the empty house. There are a million  things and to-do's and people and places in your head, but yo