June 18, 2013

I finished all my work an hour early.

What do I do for the next 60 minutes?

What do I want to do for the next 59 minutes?
  • Cry and apologize and get stuck in memories and eat without feeling bloated because obviously my anger and hostility comes from a little starving monster with sharp teeth that resides in my belly and prods me with a spear like the servant I am to it. 
  • Finally get good at guitar so I can try my hand at serenading because the virtual universe doesn't know about my lackluster singing career yet.
  • Stop getting shut down.
  • Hold Hercules.
What do I want to do in the next 47 minutes?
  • Memorize this dance.
  • Memorize stupid i-adjectives and na-adjectives and their conjugates.
  • Stop shuddering.
  • Reflect for a good minute about how to make my news release better.
  • Spruce up my resume into something more than a blank sheet of paper.
What do I wish I could do in the next 46 minutes?
  • Take a road trip.
  • Scream.
  • Finish every Wes Anderson movie (alone or not, preferably not, idkiywtwmsisdk).
  • Feel skinny.
  • Read the Screwtape Letters.
  • Come up with another word-post for that blog that doesn't involve dumb emo poetry
  • Not write dumb emo poetry as a derivative of some really good poetry
  • Keep reading Shinji Moon's poetry.
  • Make ramen and eat it.
  • Be funny and nice and entertaining and likable and not like a guilty mistake that has to tread carefully because I'm on probation.
What have I done these past 20 minutes?
  • Complain.
  • Hope for the impossible.
  • Forgot God existed.
  • Nothing.

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