An Event of Nothingness

During the time between this post and the last, I tried to write something with meaning and I have failed to. When I came to the realization that I have nothing to write about, I wrote this. This is not a finished piece and I will post up the finished work later.


I wake up and it is today, Tuesday May 20th, 2008. And this is all I know at the moment. My initial disorientation with sudden consciousness goes away when the light sets in and the room materializes, instantly familiar. I hear the artificial blaring of the alarm clock and I realize my duties. I tilt my head to look at the alarm clock (which is dark red, I tell you this because I remember this) and it reads 8:00 am. My first class is at 12:30 pm so I know that I have time and then I feel no motivation to get up because my body is tired and I have no reason to feel urgent. So I remain in a state of half-consciousness, lapsing in and out of the room, for roughly two hours - I say roughly because it is an estimate and it is certainly not an exact figure.

When the room sets back in on the second hour, I regret lying in my bed for so long because my head pulsates with great tension and the rest of myself feels sluggish and I also feel guilty with the idea of laziness. When I fully awake and sit up, my leanings towards romanticism makes me look out the window and stare at the road and the houses and the yellow mustard patch and it brings me some form of happiness when I observe that the Sun is a half-circle cut by the horizon and this position of the Sun produces an effect with the light so that it seems bright yet washed dimly over all that it touches. This moment is poignant to me; it is only at a specific time of the morning that you can see this.

When I get up to put on my sandals, my roommate walks in from the living room and sits at his laptop - we usually do not speak in the mornings...