00:31
And here I am drifting away on my raft into the seas of imagination. Carlos Gardel accompanying me with his intimate voice making love to his music. Thats the nature of tango I would have to say.
I leave in about ten hours, ready and packed. The end of another tumultuous semester and I have yet to learn anything. Every semester seems to begin and end the same way; I want to give it my all but half way through the semester and all I could think about is the long awaited rest ahead. By the end of the semester I drown myself in a sea of guilt thinking about the what could have been of the semester. And at the end I recite the same monologue: Next semester is nothing but dedication and a shit load of coffee (cawfee).
There I am in front of my laptop decaying the minutes with nothing productive, haplessly wandering the so-called information highway. Its more like the information addiction. Page after page of useless content-in some cases information can come to be useless. In the back of my head there is a this want to keep on writing my story. Fuck. It’s hopeless. We’re prisoners of our own will, a will that is caged with its cries of liberty and freedom but no real intention.
00:41
If it were not for the knock at my bedroom door there is a possibility that my “precious” time would have been interrupted. To let go of a 17 inch screen with colors coming at me calling my attention because the damn screen is set at its brightest capacity, not to mention how close I am to the damn thing. I can only hope they make designer frames fit for a coke-bottle geek like me.
I’m walking over to the door-it may have been more convenient to have called for them to come in-and slowly open the door and thank goodness the wooden piece of privacy does not creak.
So I peer out looking into his eyes with a look that says this better be important. My roommate, rather than connect with eyes, decides to make an attempt to glance into my room, dimmly lit by the desk lamp I stole from the school dormitory when I first moved out here.
Well?
Odd as it seems he looks like a parrot still trying to peek into my room as if he wanted to clarify some rumor of being true. No response. Sure he makes himself look more and more mentally challenged but this was all too weird for me and quite entertaining.
You need something?
All I got was a lousy “uh” and some more head movement. This is not something I can use to write my story. Its literature not an entry on paranormal activity. It would have been the best solution to simply close the door but there is always this feeling one gets-probably not everyone gets it-that makes you want to not do what would be best doing.
I did him a favor and opened up the door so that he can see into my room. This is where I got some response from him. He took a step closer and searched my room up and down trying to find something that may incriminate me.
Since I was to tired to think of words for an occassion as such I did the next best thing…