Friday Mornings are Just Thursday Nights in Disguise
I wrote this about myself last Thursday night at 5 AM. I forgot about it and then found it again. I was ammused. I wonder if anyone will be able to follow this. Welcome to my brain at its finest (really late at night):
It was a Friday morning at 5 AM when he had his biggest realization of that particular week. It was abnormally warm for January, though it’s wasn’t really clear to him how he knew that. He hadn’t actually been outside in six or seven hours. He was just assuming. Why don’t you get off of his fucking case, OK? OK.
It was a Thursday night at 5 AM in his book, while we’re on the subject of his fucking case. He was still intending to sleep for a few hours, and in his mind, the day did not stop and start at midnight. Days stopped when you fell asleep and started when you woke up the next morning.
Running one’s days like this shortens them quite a bit. Days in his book weren’t twenty four hours. They were a lot closer to eighteen or nineteen. His days were much more efficient then regular folks’. He used 100% of his days to do things (or nothing, depending on your point of view) where as most people only used about 70%. He liked to refer to most people as suckers.
Actually he didn’t, but he was still getting the better deal.
It was really fucking late on some night in January. This is when he realized what he’d gotten himself into with this whole college thing. After writing a paper for his English class about an article he had chosen for its length (actually its lack thereof), deciding to conveniently forget his bibliography for his Politics class the next day, and skimming over some handouts for his Drugs and Addictions class, he realized two things.
First was that anyone describing his actions would, based on the law of averages, a law he didn’t actually know the specifics of, have to have at least a few comma splices present in their description. They just had to. His actions were so comma-filled that it was unavoidable.
Comma splice was another term he wasn’t actually familiar with the specifics of, but then we get into you being on his case again and needing to get the fuck off of it.
His second realization was that college was really just a collection of writings written for people with much better attention spans than his own. He’d only been in school at the university level for about five months, but of this fact he was quite sure. His parents were paying $5000 a year for him to skim lots of words.
It was a Friday morning at 5 AM when he had his biggest realization of that particular week. It was abnormally warm for January, though it’s wasn’t really clear to him how he knew that. He hadn’t actually been outside in six or seven hours. He was just assuming. Why don’t you get off of his fucking case, OK? OK.
It was a Thursday night at 5 AM in his book, while we’re on the subject of his fucking case. He was still intending to sleep for a few hours, and in his mind, the day did not stop and start at midnight. Days stopped when you fell asleep and started when you woke up the next morning.
Running one’s days like this shortens them quite a bit. Days in his book weren’t twenty four hours. They were a lot closer to eighteen or nineteen. His days were much more efficient then regular folks’. He used 100% of his days to do things (or nothing, depending on your point of view) where as most people only used about 70%. He liked to refer to most people as suckers.
Actually he didn’t, but he was still getting the better deal.
It was really fucking late on some night in January. This is when he realized what he’d gotten himself into with this whole college thing. After writing a paper for his English class about an article he had chosen for its length (actually its lack thereof), deciding to conveniently forget his bibliography for his Politics class the next day, and skimming over some handouts for his Drugs and Addictions class, he realized two things.
First was that anyone describing his actions would, based on the law of averages, a law he didn’t actually know the specifics of, have to have at least a few comma splices present in their description. They just had to. His actions were so comma-filled that it was unavoidable.
Comma splice was another term he wasn’t actually familiar with the specifics of, but then we get into you being on his case again and needing to get the fuck off of it.
His second realization was that college was really just a collection of writings written for people with much better attention spans than his own. He’d only been in school at the university level for about five months, but of this fact he was quite sure. His parents were paying $5000 a year for him to skim lots of words.