3 Cups, 1 Bag.

Having just satisfied a violent hunger for a tea fix just moments before, I am euphoric. My second year university student housing bedroom sits before me like an ocean of my interests, a model for constant change: the effects of Time and erosion on my barren carpet shoreline, the rocky tundra bed that was being eaten away at by this ticking semester of late night study snacks under covers, ruthless reminders of my short time here.

The blank spaces on the walls make it seem so vast and fertile while the course syllabi for my classes demand a sense of limitation and confinement at the same time.

It’s night, and my reading light is on, so I have the curtain closed. It’s 2:17 AM, and apparently I’m nervous about peeping tom neighbours. I recognize this foolishness at once, and take two steps across the room, lean across my bed, and pull my curtain up for the view. My room faces the side of my next-door neighbours’ house, which to my dismay includes two windows that face my own, and less distressingly, a basketball hoop with fresh February icicles hanging from its rim. Hence my having the curtain down in the first place. But it’s late enough that that doesn’t matter. Who cares who sees anything anyway? Who would even want to watch? I can’t help but feel I’m giving myself too much credit.

I am completely, utterly distracted from the hundred pages of reading I have to do before the morning sunlight cracks the sky and when I will have to ready myself for a bus to my 8:30 class (Chinese Philosophy, with Professor Dorter).

Funny thing how any acknowledgment of distraction can lead you back to your reality in almost any instance. Oh well. It was fun while it lasted.

Back to Middlemarch. Joy.