SMALL RECTANGULAR DENTS

A letter causes a scream causes a phone call causes a dirty look causes a dent. A dent causes an AP problem causes a silence causes a nervous hand causes an eraser to drop causes a break in silence causes more silence.


The clock just rang 9:00 three minutes too early. I hear typing and chewing and I'm trying to keep my head from imploding slowly, like a can being sucked dry of air. If any of you have ever seen the TV show Lost, you might recall the loud buzzing noise that occurs when the island is disappearing. That sound is the ungrateful, unwelcome boarder seeking refuge in my brain. It sits next to Justin Beiber and some angry under-the-breath-murmuring, slowly drilling holes through different parts of my face, until I give in. BUT I REFUSE.


I am now going to go off on a mindless, pointless and seemingly shallow rant, and hopefully some of you will be able to identify with me.


I have wasted years of my life sitting down and fighting off unfairness with a bottle cap for a shield. Today is just one more day added to that list and I am about to connect the dots on the dotted line I drew in the sand a long time ago. Too much of my effort and energy has been put into this, and, frankly, this whole thing has been an exothermic reaction: I am left in a state of low energy, and high disorder.


And now, I sit on the same black couch I wrote a crappy essay on a few nights ago, questioning all my priorities, and whether anything I have ever done will amount to anything anymore. All the while, the relentless lip smacking and snack crunching and ENDLESS keyboard clicking will not cease. The small rectangular dents surrounding the large bulbous nose on the teddy bear of my life have just soiled it forever. Something I never thought could be ruined so easily. In one split second has lost all value because of those goddamn little rectangles.

I am done now. Thanks for listening. This has been cathartic. ADIEU, Rosalind.