Black eyes are deepest.
It’s definitely black. My eyes. They’re black. Just one of those things about me I’ve never noticed before. I just assume that they are because I always see them from a distance, like how I assume doughnuts are sweet and people stare.
Oh look. I can see the iris. It’s a glossier black.
I turn of my yellow hat covered lamp.
And walk back to my table. Wait, how unflattering. My workstation. There, better. Why oh why does it still look the same? I must have done about a thousand different things to appease my lust for some god dammed thing to do, but it still looks about as inviting as my bed. Which is not really. It’s been what, 2 weeks since I lost it.
No use moping around, I told myself in the first.
Do something, I told myself in the third, after waking up from the progressively messier bed. Not bed. Reality-escape device. Where I wake up wishing dreams were real, even though they feel more real than this.
I’ve done it all.
Read every single word in my room. Every one. I found this old book “How To Be a Happy Teen” which oddly enough doesn’t cover extreme boredom and finished it, just like that.
I’ve planned it all.
Pick up the guitar again. Swim daily. Work. Buy that new friggin life. Relax. Cook. Ahh.., the glorious 3 months.
I’ve planned more.
The new Frisbee training sessions. The arrangement of my new room. Food. Cook. Friends. Going jogging, now.
And then some.
Being an anarchist in each Hall, one a day, and then leaving them to wonder with awe who did it.
But they’re just plans. Illogical thoughts going off like fireworks in my head, even more so these 3 weeks. My room looks the same. The work station is jeering at me, I can feel it. My life in these 3 weeks have settled into a predictable routine, one set by the upper echelons of The Australian National University. People around me live to study, sleep, eat, and study some more. “It’s time to go through what you’ve learned again, You better start soon!” That’s what Dr. Anne Aimola Davies said 5 weeks ago.
3 weeks is more than enough. Beyond that its Abdul Gharib.
Already that wall socket looks so inviting.
----------------------------------------------
I walk to the computer lab. No change there. Wait, whats this? I spot two computers where someone forgot to log off. Two! My lucky night.
My greed vs. moral values come up. I bring up my files to print. Greed wins. Oh no! Printer’s out of paper. “Cut down more trees!” I mutter.
I re-justify myself. I would never have printed anyway. I retain my integrity. Morality triumphs again. And laughs over my shoulder.
I know that when I go back to my room, nothing will change. The reality escape device would still be in a mess, my workstation cluttered.
Its like my eyes. Every time I look I expect, no, hope to see a bit more brown. Or some other color. Anything besides the usual numbing situation.
Nope. Still black. I like it that way.
