[Written a few weeks ago]
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It's really hot and I'm really thirsty.
It's a Sunday afternoon and I'm cooped up in the library writing a paper. Rather, I should be writing a paper. I should be shuffling through books and essays and lecture notes [if I were to ever take notes, that is] and I should be analyzing the female voice of modern American literature through Adrienne Rich and Thomas Pynchon. My brow should be knitted in pursuit of that singularly brilliant phrase that connotes what I want to express in one sentence instead of two. Economic writing: Just Do It. I should be listening to Chopin's Nocturne in G Minor and sitting up straight to keep me alert and focused.
Is anyone surprised that I'm not doing what I should be doing?
I'm slouched in a chair by the floor-to-ceiling windows on the third floor, papers and books scattered around , listening to the clickity-clack of keyboards and the shuffling papers of diligent students whose admirable company I can't join. My contact lenses are dry and my mouth is parched due to the surprisingly humid day, and I'm greedily eyeing the sweating cup of iced coffee sitting across the table from my too-warm hands. I wonder if I can steal a sip before the girl sitting across from be returns from the restroom. My feet probably smell like ass.
It's hot.
There's a little girl on the empty tennis courts chasing a brand-new tennis ball around. Her short brown ponytail bounces about in excitement as she seems very happy to have the courts all to herself - the big college kids are studying for finals instead of playing tennis. Her grandfather [grandmother?] occasionally picks up the loose ball and tosses it to her, and she chases it down with much more vigor and determination than her companion. She's the only person outside moving at a pace faster than a volcanic glacier, because it's really hot.
I can't breathe. I'm going to die of heat. I'm not exaggerating. People are withering away right in front of my eyes.
I am now very angry because the girl has returned to her seat and has carelessly thrown away the 3/4 filled cup of iced coffee. THERE ARE CHILDREN IN ETHIOPIA WHO WOULD KILL FOR THAT ICED COFFEE, AMERICAN CONSUMERIST WENCH!!!
Is it considered to be in bad taste if I rummage around the library
garbage can for a recently-tossed cup of icy, coffee-y goodness?
Written by jihwan at 02:43 AM.