sjsprWriting

One of those nights again, where you try and you try and nothing comes out the way you want, the words don’t listen. You’re left empty, angry, gripping a pen a tad too tight.

It’s late and you’re tired and it’s your fault, so it’s okay you’ll deal. You’ll deal with the burn of failure and the sting of disappointment because that is what you do and the only thing to be done. With a bitter taste on your tongue, you resort to what you can and write about how you can’t write. Originality, at its finest.

You grasp desperately for words like a drowning man for air. It gets later and later and you can see your morning routine unfolding before you and you know that in a couple hours you’re going to be in the kind of hell only a significant amount of caffeine can remedy. You imagine skipping class and finding a nice corner of the newly opened library to sleep in. Ignore all your responsibilities and the pressure of the future and just shut down for a bit. But you can’t and you won’t because there are some things more important than what you want.

A cup of coffee in the morning, possibly another in the afternoon and maybe you’ll get through the day. End of the week all that’s left to do is push on till 3 and rejoice at the existence of Fridays. Only you won’t be leaving the school until 6 because your parents are working and you have nowhere to go. But the library is now open for student-business and you suppose you’ll start up your library-living habit right off the bat.

You’re going to start the day with your AP class and that sends a wave of despair through you. How you’ll make it, you don’t know, but at the very least you’re free block is second. At the very least, at the very least, at the very least; what optimistic words. Used to point out the silver lining, now isn’t that nice?

You are in the here and the then, in two planes at once and your sense of time is slipping. It could be a vision or sleep deprivation except it’s likely the latter because you have no idea what you are talking about. You are confused. Can a meaningless rant—that you plan to call stream of consciousness in order to get away with it—have a conclusion? There was never a starting point, or a middle point. And if there was, you lost sight of them along the way. What a journey, you feel changed, relieved, reborn.

Just kidding, you’re still tired.

And so here is the end for the piece with no real end.