Wrish

I spend much of my day walking between parts of my workplace, as a gopher, it is expected that this slow method of transportation will occupy a large portion of my daily duties. In this time, there is little for my mind to do except run pointless, idle, operations. These operations manifest themselves as subconsciously created simulations, daydreams.

My daydreams are never so substantial as to deceive me into believing that they are real, however, their frequency have resulted in the occasional event in which reality masquerades itself as a fallacious figment of my imagination, taking the guise of uncertainty. Things that I wish not to have occurred find themselves in this state. They present themselves as weak memories from a recent past.

I am compelled to assume that this is a mechanism of my mind, used to defend the physical body from stressful situations; it typically serves only to contribute.

Entry into a legally binding relationship of co-dependence will not happen to me, this I have promised myself.

My father is adamant that some day I will desire the trappings of family life. I will succumb to the beacon of passionate-less sex, emotional detachment and the annoying rabble of small ones. I will have a house, a home and my life will be fulfilled.

I have a feeling that some day, I will be coaxed; through some emotion clouded with lust, I will fall to my knee and make the most regrettable decision of my life. When that happens, I only hope that the object of my proposal takes my miscellaneous symbol of love and pushes it back down my pathetic throat. Only then will I know that I truly love them.

To my friend, here’s to the rest of your life, you are one groovy kid.

Lightning drums through my chest like the bass of a good track played at an illegal volume. It is inspiring in its magnitude, and swiftly instills the realization that I am entirely insignificant.

Quick flashes strobe across the sky; the dim afternoon light blazes into incandescence, freezing a single moment in my latent vision. It would seem that life itself halts between successive strikes, and that only quaking thunder can draw me from my dreary daze.

It is odd that such obscene chaos can build a peaceful rest.

Sports are fun, sports are great, watching sports, I seem to hate.

As an internationally recognized nerd, most people don’t hold any expectations on me when it comes to sports. Occasionally however, I am submitted to those extensive periods of silence that directly follow an attempt to start conversation themed around sports.

I don’t watch sports, I despise watching sports, I can’t think of a more displeasurable situation then to find myself, forcibly, in the company of someone who is compelled to witness every second of yet another code of “get the ball to the other end.”

I don’t follow any teams, conformity isn’t in my nature. I don’t feel obligated to root for any under dog, I imagine under dogs have enough trouble finding their way through complex root systems as it is (cough.) Sharks, bulldogs, toads, and cockroaches are all animals which I can describe in excessive detail, they may or may not be related to sporting teams, I wouldn’t dedicate the neurons to recall.

There is no reason for it, this is something that just is, I hate watching sports, no matter the level of competition, no matter the incredible skills demanded of the competition, if I am not playing then don’t expect to gain my interest.

The sheep in Kuwait are suffering, and the one who is bigger than he seems is about to have a shower. All this is irrelevant, because I am done, completed, finished.

I am done, it came down to two trivial hours of my morning, and then it was over. Strangely, I don’t feel a heavy burden has left me, I don’t feel excitement or happiness. In fact, I feel nothing in particular, seems just like another day. A day whose real pleasure comes from the 7.6 hours of glorious recreation leave which I am presently wasting on said ‘nothing in particular’.

With any luck I will remember the pain and anguish brought on by endless hours spent using my skull as a percussive instrument, hours spent in feeble search of those illustrious words which bring me the pass I deserve. Those memories will keep me from succumbing to the ever present lure that is post grad education.

Now I have my piece of paper, I have to find something useful to do with it. I am thinking I might make a paper maché penis and wear it as a hat.

There exist two extremes of concern. There are those moments when nothing matters, and those, in which, every indiscriminate facet of your life matters to such an incredible degree that nothing matters.

I have found myself at both of these extremes within the last week. Neither serves any purpose but to surround me in an impenetrable dolor, through which, I can not help but long for the happy medium where indifference and empathy meet.

Just remember, the man who literally carries the weight of the world on their shoulders looks like some idiot doing yoga.

Well mannered and courteous, these words adorned all of my school result cards throughout my childhood years.

I have endeavored to live up to this empty comment for most of my adult life, manners and courtesy are paramount in the quiet and peaceful life of your average hermit nerd. I try to look at everything from a subdued, somewhat stoic, reference. It offends me when others do not do the same.

In most part I find people to be rational and controlled, however, I can never help but notice a time, the black sheep among circumstances, which effortlessly reduces even intelligent, composed individuals, to pointless personal attacks, reckless observations and indiscriminate profanity; driving.

What is it about vehicular travel which brings poise to its knees?

Simple mistakes, ones which would scarcely shave a few tenths of a second from the driving time of your courier result in a lengthy discussion about why it annoys them that this and that. An uncomfortable driving situation draws profanity from the window of some oddly hairy fellow, attempting to defend their actions.

I admit I have my own driving gripes, those imbeciles that slow down to 55 after seeing a speed trap in a 70 zone. You know who you are, sometimes I want to grab you by the jugular and…

Crawling forward, grasping to reach ever closer to something I cannot see; this is how it begins.

Dreams are the window to the subconscious, that highly advanced processor which lies deep within, providing us with the ability to perform arbitrary tasks without the devotion or effort demanded by the conscious mind.

When the conscious mind takes time to rest and recover from its neuron burning activities, the subconscious mind is awakened, it plays havoc on our senses and brings us to a world where anything is possible and only the shrill blow of an alarm will stop you.

I love to dream, I secretly loved walking through the school entirely naked. I loved the overwhelming sensation of suffocation. I loved to fly above the monsters, which marauded through my night. I loved the dreams I knew were dreams, a land without consequences, where my horrible desires could be executed with a veracity befitting an existence without fear of punishment. Most of all, I loved the nightmares, a fright that collapses with the waking mind, simple bliss.

Alas, now the dreams are few and far between, years of a dormant psyche have rendered them a figment the past. I lay my head down, wondering if tonight I will once again find myself in a state of magnificent fear, a nightmare to waken the shivers inside.

I am caretaker for a neotenic organism; the larval stage of a salamander, which refrains from metamorphosis and becomes sexually mature in its larval state; more specifically, an axolotl.

This creature, which has haplessly found itself in my care, is destined for a life of neglect. I am an apathetic host, and so morbidly indifferent, that I haven’t provided it with a name, much less the attention it deserves.

Between sitting around absorbing oxygen and opening its mouth to receive food, I imagine the axolotl lives a happy social life with the rocks and the lone plant which also take residence in my aquarium.

Sometimes, I wish I was an axolotl.

I am not a poster boy for university students around the world; I always found study to be highly objectionable.

I sit now, awaiting one of two exams which will bring to an end the three year course which has been so prolific in my life. I sit, giggling heartily at the moments I spent churning over thousands of words, written in pointless drivel. I reflect, on those rare instances when I came under the false suspicion that something I was learning might actually assist me in my future life.

I knew all along that the best knowledge was that obtained of ones own need and desire, yet still I submitted myself to the woeful pains of arbitrary subjects with questionable relevance and weak execution.

Yet I am not glad that it is ending, full time study of BIT takes a significant part of your every day life, I have no idea what I am going to do with those extra two hours each week.