Previous to last Tuesday, I had been oh so stuck on my project and, at the time this was due, still didn't know which direction to take. But everyone knows the only way to fix inability is to keep trying. So I put my fingers to the keyboard and wrote this:
Quiet. That’s all I need is some peace and freaking quiet. My roommate and his stupid friends are sitting around my Great Grandma’s antique dining table, doing the ‘manly’ thing: getting wasted and talking shit about girls. Idiots. I asked them twice to shut up—have some respect for those of us trying to do something productive in our lives—but no. So, I decide to throw my books, keys, phone into my bag and leave.
The walk is peaceful. Sun feels warm on my bare arms, which seems surprising for early March. I find myself in a comfortable pace, hearing nothing but my own thoughts and the birds chirping in the distance. Campus is abandoned, well, except for that dog fetching like a good boy for his owner. Oh, and those eager flower children, tying their slackline. I smile, mostly out of mockery, coupled nicely with a dash of ignorance. *add more here* Hand me a cup of coffee, and this moment would be perfect.
Before long, my feet make their way to the library. The door proves to be heavy, as if to say, “Hey. Whit. Forget homework. Stay outside, enjoy your afternoon, and live worry-free for a few hours. I’ll be here tomorrow.” I pause, consider this idea and its appeal, but proceed any way.
Inside, silence. My body moves into a little victory dance. Before I can get to my favorite part, someone notices and just has to ask, “What the hell are you doing?” Instantly frozen, face six shades of red (all at once), I reply with a squeaky “Nothing!” and bolt.
I’m unsure if embarrassment and shame or the ever pressing desire for seclusion brought me here, but the third floor of Renne welcomes me like a long lost friend.
End note: Do not fret my dear friends! I have since discovered an intriguing topic and am on the long, twisted road to writing.
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