A quasi-familiar feeling tonight.
My laundry's halfway done—the clothes are clean but lying crumpled on the floor.
My schooling's 49 per cent—essays and assignments complete, exams yet to be written.
I'm halfway up the stairway to health, with smoothies and salads during the day, but hot dogs and re-heated cookies at night.
I'm somewhere between sobriety and bacchanalia, somewhere in the 150s of a 300-page book, stages of sleep and rest confused between the bed, the couch, and the floor.
I can't decide between super-sweet Sugar Ray and The super-sick Sonics.
The only thing I've completed is the (fully-necessary) full glass of water in front of me.
Spring's here, but summer's peeking its red-hot face 'round the corner.
Evenings are long, but too short to be considered the epic nights of an endless summer.
I'm queen for a day, but joker for the night.
The glass sits half-full, and half-empty, but either way, it's at tipping point.