Ever meet someone incredible at a club?

Possibly you end up going home with them. Perhaps you end up staying up all night. And staying in bed all day the next day talking. And then you stay another night. And spend another half a day in bed talking, before remembering that you did have a life out there in the real world, a very very busy life that you completely forgot about while you were getting so wrapped up in the connection that you just made with a human, a connection you never thought you’d have, due to your own persistent weirdness.

You’ve run out of clean clothes. You have deadlines, and a cat/baby/goldfish that may or may not be dead. Who has been feeding it? Certainly not you. You finally leave, and head home. You start to frantically sort your shit out at home and catch up on all the important things and chores that you neglected during your torrid affair, but you do this all with a big shit-eating grin, one that any normal person would agree should provoke a giant punch to your smug face.

They are perfect. They’ve just messaged you, telling you they think you’re incredible. They want to see you again, and you feel the same, obviously. You begin to make judgement calls on which of your obligations you’ll allow to slide, if only for a day or two, in order to once again be with your new flame. You tell yourself you’ll get some stuff done first, but you’ve really lost your ability to concentrate. You half-heartedly finish some work, then decide to forgo an assignment altogether, telling yourself that 5% isn’t really that important, you’ll make it up in the final exam.

With a spring in your step, you head back to their place.