Marc
I was all prepared to put down the night's thoughts, and a poem of sorts came springing out. How unexpected. How nice. I put it in storage. It will someday greet the nightlife with support.
I'm in the process of cleaning the room. This is a process that involves hours upon hours of calculated, meticulous work. For example, I must first sit down and play hours of video games. Room cleanings go nowhere if the body is stressed. Unstress yourself. Watch your television. Play your guitar. Then, the clothes and odds and ends must be piled on the bed. CD cases. Books. Tape capes and mixtape lists. Socks, headphones, guitar straps, hangars. They're all here. A lot of it is junk that will end up in the trash, but pay no mind to seperating it now. Move on. All the newly washed load of clothes are still in the laundry bag, laying on top of the pillow. There is another blanket that has been filled with stray clothes and folded over, sitting next to the laundry bag. The floor is clear of change. I have now found enough room to be able to bring back my amps. They have been in the living room all weekend. One by the chair. One behind the couch. One behind the front door. They have regained their old spaces.
The keyboard can plug into the bass amp, though this discovery came at the expense of someone else's sleep. The stool is back against the amp. There will be no more early morning foot attacks. My toes are fine now. They are not broken, for which I am grateful. How shameful it was to limp for a few hours, knowing that a chair had kicked my ass.
After everything is piled on the bed, the usual plan is to throw it all back on the floor again, seeing as how the space on the bed is supposed to be used for sleeping, and I never usually get through an entire room cleaning in one night. I've got other things to do, like video games and reading and slobbing around. I'm a busy man. Usually, after I get home from class the next day, I'm somehow motivated enough to fold and arrange all the clothes, and restore the CD cases and books to their original places.
Now, I begin doing homework, which should be last about ten minutes. I have to think about how to "indoctrinate" my group workmate Carl into the KKK. Hmm. We're putting on a performance tomorrow afternoon, 2pm in Degarmo Hall room 406. Be there, or be ... somewhere else, I guess. Whatev.
I was all prepared to put down the night's thoughts, and a poem of sorts came springing out. How unexpected. How nice. I put it in storage. It will someday greet the nightlife with support.
I'm in the process of cleaning the room. This is a process that involves hours upon hours of calculated, meticulous work. For example, I must first sit down and play hours of video games. Room cleanings go nowhere if the body is stressed. Unstress yourself. Watch your television. Play your guitar. Then, the clothes and odds and ends must be piled on the bed. CD cases. Books. Tape capes and mixtape lists. Socks, headphones, guitar straps, hangars. They're all here. A lot of it is junk that will end up in the trash, but pay no mind to seperating it now. Move on. All the newly washed load of clothes are still in the laundry bag, laying on top of the pillow. There is another blanket that has been filled with stray clothes and folded over, sitting next to the laundry bag. The floor is clear of change. I have now found enough room to be able to bring back my amps. They have been in the living room all weekend. One by the chair. One behind the couch. One behind the front door. They have regained their old spaces.
The keyboard can plug into the bass amp, though this discovery came at the expense of someone else's sleep. The stool is back against the amp. There will be no more early morning foot attacks. My toes are fine now. They are not broken, for which I am grateful. How shameful it was to limp for a few hours, knowing that a chair had kicked my ass.
After everything is piled on the bed, the usual plan is to throw it all back on the floor again, seeing as how the space on the bed is supposed to be used for sleeping, and I never usually get through an entire room cleaning in one night. I've got other things to do, like video games and reading and slobbing around. I'm a busy man. Usually, after I get home from class the next day, I'm somehow motivated enough to fold and arrange all the clothes, and restore the CD cases and books to their original places.
Now, I begin doing homework, which should be last about ten minutes. I have to think about how to "indoctrinate" my group workmate Carl into the KKK. Hmm. We're putting on a performance tomorrow afternoon, 2pm in Degarmo Hall room 406. Be there, or be ... somewhere else, I guess. Whatev.
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