In a fit of exhaust-induced, hyperactive stress about the upcoming math test tomorrow, I threw my planner at the sofa in an attempt of carefully-planned massacre of my planner’s spine.
Alas, I was unplanned for the slight possibility that my planner, which has a different mass and spacial weight than a fully air-pumped rubber bag, would curve slightly off the graph I had constructed in my psyche, and thus land not on the sofa but disappear forever, opening wormhole in the space-time continuum for quantum physicists to marvel for centuries.
Luckily, I daresay, after a long journey of exploring the caverns of behind the sofa and its neighboring areas, my team and I came to the conclusion that the wormhole had not been opened, and the planner was very much intact.
Henceforth, I report that I do, to my sincerest distressed apologies, discern the polite-yet-hissed dialogue between my brother of several more years and my brother of several less several more years. I do hope they aren’t conversing of vexatious constitution of myself and my slightly elder brother.
tl;dr I threw my planner at the sofa. It disappeared, but then, after a bunch of searching (mostly on Zach and Alex’s part), I found my planner. Zach and Alex are probably complaining about how annoying Cas and ! are.