My mind murmurs. I roll around, feeling for my phone and getting lost in my own bed. Seeking hands find the cool glassy back. I prepare for what is to come, brightness, my eyes begin watering, in pain. Through the early morning fog I realize it is 8am. That single thought is enough for me to register the light seeping into my comfortable darkness. I’ve only had four hours rest, surely another sleep cycle (at an average of forty five minutes) will be enough to make today bearable. I close my eyes. I am tired.
It’s midday. The light is pervasive now. It illuminates my guilt. Yet another half a day wasted without anything to show for it. I throw the blankets off myself, a vain attempt at self-shock. It’s not that cold. I jump up out of bed and bounce around my room for a few seconds. Surely I just need a kick start, it works somewhat. So I sputter into the kitchen and start the kettle. Coffee in hand I sit, ready to consume my ‘morning’ dose of information. Facebook first and email to see if anyone wanted me over the few hours I slept. I check my bank, knowing nothing is in there. I go to my blog to seek some self-validation, it doesn’t work. I scroll through some other blogs, hoping for some ‘morning’ inspiration. It doesn’t work and I realize I am just wasting more time, it’s already 2pm. Maybe a shower will help. I am pathetic.
Sweet warm nothingness, the water runs over me. I visualize the steps I should be taking today. Housework can be done tomorrow. I really need to do that assignment, it’s three days late. I should eat soon. Right, food, coffee, and then I am going to write it. I WILL get it done today. Ten minutes in the shower is a waste of water, but I’m still there. It takes half an hour to wash, think, dry, dress and make it back to the kitchen. I make my breakfast at 2.30pm, eggs on toast. A bit of coffee to wash it down and I sit back down. Facebook, email, blog and it is 4pm. I am wasteful.
I open Word and stare at the void for a while. I know I have a lot to write, I have been reading so much. I know exactly what I need get across. Maybe if I read some more I will do better. I start skimming articles. To begin with they are on topic, but soon delve into random bits of trivia and interesting ideas. I think of stories I can write, of conversations I can have. Oh but what about this? I end up researching my new ideas. My head is swooning with possibility. I still haven’t started and it is 8pm. Now there is too much in my head, focusing is impossible. I try some meditation techniques I learnt years ago, they work to clear my head but as soon as I stop the cacophony starts again. I put a movie on, that will quell the noise. I am hopeless.
Unfortunately it’s midnight. One movie turned into two and some dinner. Now I am too tired to write coherently. I close the blank Word document and stare at the screen for a while. Maybe if I get a decent sleep I will write it first thing in the morning before class. I get into bed with trepidation. I know where this leads. I lay, thinking. Hours pass as I worry about everything I didn’t get done today. I worry about the building pressure. I worry about if I’ll cope. I worry. Every thought of the day turns dark when the lights are out. It’s about 4am when the morning fog seeps in, blurring the thoughts enough to sleep. I will get up in a few hours. I don’t and then it is time for class. I am failing.
Every thought I have is lie. I must admit this.
Surfing the web, tapping into the vast uncharted depths of human interaction; information pouring in; opinions formed, destroyed and protected vehemently; cute kitties; a funny poem; sexy women; sex; bullies; heroes; villans; news; misinformation. I need to get away from it, away from it all.
Time to watch television. Watch all the caricatures of people interact, maybe learn something interesting; maybe learn something false. Why does ‘Reality’ TV exist? Haven’t they heard of the internet? This is boring. I might read a book.
This book is really good. I’m too tired to read.
Video games! They’re like books but I’m in them. Vicariously dismember things with my controller; learn to play a fake guitar; what an amazing story; what a challenge; what’s the time? I should sleep.
I wonder if I have any notification? Emails? Comments? New photos?! The internet is great. My turn on words with friends? I don’t have time for that, I’m busy. Oh there’s an app for my phone? Awesome!
Time to get my week started. Shut up phone, oh wait, who commented on my photo? Oh I may as well play my turn now. Oh that looks interesting.
Wait, it’s really not. What is going on? My life is boring. What do I do? What have I achieved? Nothing. I need to create something. I need to contribute to this world. I need to be proactive. But it all seems so - hard. Maybe I’ll just do it online?
Tumblr you are not homework… stop it.
First 100 words written of a 1250 word essay due 6 days ago :c
The opening of chapters 2 and 3 of Bram Stoker’s Dracula differ slightly in style. This paper will discuss a few of these shiftss in style as well as discussing the parallels of these style shifts to the changes in plot and the character Jonathan Harker, who is the narrator and central character in both chapters. This is an epistolary novel and both chapters are written as journal entries. The entries become less well formed and more erratic as Harker realizes he is a prisoner, and not a guest of Count Dracula. As the apparent realization settles in the language used becomes more uncertain, mirroring a running theme and plot device.