time conflates before me. everything that has happened, is happening, and will happen equates if i think of it just right. or wrong? procrastination becomes a joke within this mindset. how am i supposed to put off what has already come to pass? i'm not saying i don't have any choices here. i do have choices: i don't yet know what has passed, but that it has. i am small and shriveled, old and more flaccid, gone and forgotten - all of that right now. and now. and now...
this morning i didn't have my headphones on as i walked onto campus: i had been talking to my neighbour during the bus ride, and the exposure of my hands to the cold didn't seem worth three minutes of song. as i cut through the adams building a group of three girls kept a distracted pace at my side. one of them was loudly complaining about the loss of her contact lenses, how weird it felt to suddenly have nothing there.
"it's like... my face feels
empty! so
weird!"
your face is empty, i thought. and then reminded myself that i must sound that way sometimes, too. that i must feel that way sometimes, too. i didn't look at her face. but i looked at the faces of her friends, to see if their own contained anything at all. nope. feigned interest, maybe.
outside of the adams building there was a cranberry muffin, neatly wrapped in saran wrap, placed on the edge of the sidewalk. i eyed it curiously, appalled at my temptation. later, there was taboule on dr. penfield. a whole pan of it. sacrifices to the gods of absence and time, just waiting to never be already claimed.
