I’m in the same place that I am usually. In 976, “doing the homework that was due weeks ago,” but not actually doing it. For some reason I am in a pace where the idea of engrossing by brain into that work seems incredibly dull and toxic, almost. I’m listening to James Blake. I’m really tired. Not really in the sense that I want to go to sleep, although I definitely could, but more so that moving my hands and body is difficult.
No one in here is exciting to me, today. and my foot is asleep.
The food on plates cruising by look wonderful, but I just cut my hair and have gained a couple of pounds recently so I cant afford to eat when I don’t need to.
I don’t feel that bad about not doing my homework because the guy next to me is on facebook.
I have the chills and I don’t like bending down cause it’s bad for my neck. I need to make some chiropractor appointments. I would call right now but I don’t feel like it. I haven’t felt like it in weeks or ever that’s why I haven’t had a much needed appointment.
Maybe I shouldn’t be listening to James Blake. Even though it may be a little louder than m83 or something, the tones and synthesizers are drowning and seem to take ahold of my spine and eardrums and take them into some purgatory of sound and lack of production.
I skipped school today. It ends in a hour, or about an hour and 20 minutes. My neck hurts. Today isn’t as great as I wanted it to be. My neck hurts.
I also have to pee. I just went like 15 minutes ago so it’s a pretty irritating ting to deal with. I hate having a small bladder.
I wish that I could find Anthony Gonzaleze’s POBOX. I would love to send him things. I’m not sure what I would send, but it would be something and it would be relatively good and he could see into me through something. Or even if he didn’t read it I could think that he did.
I’m listening to The Antlers now. I don’t know why I am so tired. I need to quickly finish this tea and get some coffee.
The guy next to me is totally sketch. I mean I may look a little weird cause I’m sitting with one knee facing upwards, bent so that my thigh is touching the side of my body, typing away, looking, what I can only imagine, as dead, as people question my reasoning for sitting so un-lady-like while wearing a dress (it’s okay, have leggings underneath).
This tea is really strong because I didn’t take the bag out, but maybe that will give me more caffeine.
I just need to keep writing until I can fathom writing about something other than my innate thoughts.
An elaboration to my thoughts of the man sitting next to me: He is wearing sweatpants, running shoes, and a brown, zip-up jacket with the hood draped over his head. He is using a mouse on a dirty mouse pad for his laptop, and his computer bag is pretty worn. He just got up and lef his keys with something that looks to be a white hotel room tag bearing the number “16.” His black iPhone with the glass crushed in the corner is sitting next to his little info box (that thing that hooks up to a computer and carries extra info I don’t remember what it is called), hooked up to his chunky Samsung computer. I can only see the back of a different key chain tag, but I am going to assume it’s a membership card to a gym.
Because this man got up to stretch, I am able to observe the man sitting in the spot one beyond mine. He keeps looking around, for a but I thought that he was looking at me, but I don’t think I was the focal point of more that 2 of those glances. His motions fluctuate between looking at his computer, glancing up, and bobbing his head to the music am am assuming is grasping him from within the Beats strapped around the top of his head.
Today, I told myself that, if anyone asks, that my name Is Grace, I go to Brown University, and, although I am on spring break, I have to work on a project that is due next week.
The guy came back and he is (I have to fart) not the most fun to look at, nor does he look particularly nice. A somewhat good looking man just came in. I may analyze him later if he is any bit interesting. He has headphones in, so I figure that he will keep to himself to the most part.
The idea of being productive with my essays is becoming slowly less disgusting.
My music paused between songs causing me to hear the music playing in here and I think it is some sort of country but I know that I probably don’t like it.
I need to use the bathroom and I am going to as soon as this line dies down and the lady gets out of there. Also, the new guy isn’t attractive.
The music in here got a lot louder, fuck.
CRUCIAL UPDATES: The man I thought that may be attractive is wearing a Hollister sweater and therefore, is irrelevant. My favorite person in here is the man with the Beats because he strikes me as the least stressed. And most important: the man seated next to me is almost definitely psychotic.
I was in the bathroom when the door started shaking due to violent knocking. This is simultaneously rude and odd because 1) he must know that the bathroom is in use seeing as in getting up to use it I walked very close to him (necessary as the isle between tables is narrow), and 2) one would easily know if the bathroom is in use as the 100% noticeable sign on the door states that this is so if it the door doesn’t open with a slight push. Hereafter, as I walked out, the scowl I had planned for this perpetrator was not put to proper use as his eyes were winced closed in the head resting in the inside of his arm that was glued to the wall. He was is there for a few minutes, he just got out. I wish I had a sense of smell so that I could know if this behavior was due to the diarrhetic effects of coffee. He is also still on Facebook.
I think the, usually insignificant. amount of caffeine is that tea has made me feel a little better.
What if I were to write a book like this.
It would probably get really boring. I could write a long, descriptive introduction of various people in a coffee shop, somewhat as I am doing now, then create a fascinatingly ridiculous plot, using the characters that I had described in the cripplingly boring introduction. Only so many people would be able to get through the intro having fully interpreted the descriptions, therefore, only a few would get to embrace the story for how wonderful it really is, as I would lace those introductions with various metaphors, symbols, and foreshadowing. The climax and resolutions would not be very long, and the book would (most likely) be relatively small.
The characters would have to be more interesting that the individuals whom I share this space with at the present (excluding the horrid man next to me and the musically enthused man next to him).
I have been writing here for an hour, letting my to-do list grow as I do so. I suppose that I should order a late and get to work.
But real quick, I need to write about something so that I won’t word barf (of any medium) it to anyone. Real quick.
I went on a sort of date with Dj the other day. My reason for saying “sort of” is the key point of this minor confusion and reason for this:
Elias said that he told him something along the lines of, “maybe we could figure something out while I’m in school.” This has me assuming that e assumed there was something with the possibility of progression between us. However: at the show (the date was that he bought me a ticket to see St. Vincent and gave it to me on Valentines Day), he really didn’t seem interested at all. So my theories are: 1) he was interested, but after hanging out with me on valentines day he was no longer, but game the the ticket because he already bought it, 2) he as interested but heard me telling people that I wasn’t, 3) he was interested, but the increase of obnoxiousness of my tweets scared him off, 4) he was interested, but became interested in someone else, 5) he was and is interested, but is really bad at showing it, 6) he was and is interested but doesn’t want to progress the relationship as he realizes that any sort of progression is futile while he is in school, 7) he was interested and still is but is going to drop the whole thing because he realizes that I won’t go to his school, 8) he was never really interested, but persuade it because I seemed surprisingly available to him. I could go on. There are may possibilities.
There is a part of me that just wants to ask him, but obviously the average person inside of me yielding any sort of confrontation. I mean I would do it over text, so the risk would be super minimum. Also, that fact that I don’t really want to date him is a huge chip off of the ice-block of rick, for no matter his response, there would be like 1% emotional effect.
I really really need t get to work now.
I am forever grateful of you, nonexistent reader (don’t look into my reluctance to proof read too much).