I have 32 minutes until the laundry is done, but I guess it’s alright–because to me, time is the water that runs through the spaces of my fingers. And realistically, a waiting that “feels like forever” is downright absurd.
I’m not depressed, but it’s depressing knowing that I’ll be having an important test tomorrow yet I’m completely over it already. And no, it’s definitely not because I was arguing with my loved one through an online messenger and he fell asleep midway an hour ago. Not that it’s killing my cells and nerves that we have yet to arrive at a conclusion, but I suppose he needed the sleep more. But then again, this small room where I live in has so much void ironically, it’s starting to feel depressing.
What’s a good topic to write? Writing isn’t even my occupation, but rather helps me sort the things in my mind. Speaking and voicing the words out don’t work well enough in my case, actually, I think words are a weird communication tool. Their meaning becomes different once I speak them. Thus, I write. And eventually I seek consolation through the searching for synonyms and spelling correction.
I remember my friends back in junior high making wishes at 11:11 AM at school. They claimed it’s a magical time, and your wish will come true. I think it was baloney, but I’d still remember this idea every now and then. Honestly I’d wish for something that could settle my upset stomach right now. On top of it all, sleeping is out of the question tonight–not that it’s a problem, but wishing that my body could cope with this sort of habit works too.
It’s more quiet now. I’m talking about the voices in my head, though, this room has always been silent, which I appreciate aside from not judging my occasional neglect to social or basic humane responsibilities. What am I saying? Oh dear, I wish I could laugh at my pathetic attempt to sound like poetry.
I should check my laundry now.