Number Two Pencil.

I held the pencil before me. I turned it to the left, I spun it to the right; moved it this way and that way, changed how the synthetic light bounced off of its shiny yellow wooden surface. It was so intruiging. This is what I could do for hours. This is what I did do for hours. This is what I DO do for hours.

Laying on the carpet, my legs were propped up on the bland beige walls. The blood rushed to my head. I was greeted with an odd mix of exhilaration and lightheadedness. I stared at my pencil for a bit longer until my gaze drifted, my thoughts continuing to pop about in a thousand different directions. One after the other.

I stopped them.
I pushed them aside.
I refocused.

I toppled over, my legs freefalling to the floor. I layed there for a while. L shaped. I was like a human ninety degree angle. This was fun. I liked this. Laughing to myself at my mathematical reference I pulled myself up and leaned my back back against the wall, recomposing myself. My legs indian styled. My mind moved away from the basic elementary math knowledge.

What am I doing with myself? Why do I insist on napping, and daydreaming and thinking about anything but what I (supposedly) should be thinking about? I looked at the pile of books on the opposite side of the room. I had attempted to read them earlier, but to no avail. They now lay there scattered, abandoned. I would rather watch youtube videos on people lighting their farts on fire then to read those.

Why.

It upset me. It upsets me. I like to learn, I do. But I like doing plenty of other things more than learning about metamorphic rocks and finding Z scores. I like to think of outlandish scenarios and write down my nonsensical ideas and doodle, drawing Christina flowers.

...maybe I should take a creative writing class next semester.

Maybe.

English didn't go so greatly in that first semester of college. Damned peer editing. It just frustrated me. My fellow classmates did not understand my style at all. They thought I was a crazy girl hopped up on some sort of drug. I wanted to slaughter them, swat them away like you would gnats and be done with them. I was so annoyed. Do you not know anything besides what you are told? I was constantly thinking that. I mean, come on people. You can look beyond the words that are presented to you on a page. Look beyond my inappropriate use of a comma or dash and find SOME sort of meaning. Nope. Squares. All of them.

This was making me mad. My fingers were feeling tense, agitated. I know! An idea popped into my head- jazz hands! Yes, do jazz hands. I started doing jazz hands. My fingers moved about in fits of joy, and I started laughing again. This is what I liked doing. Sitting on the carpet, a smile crept back onto my face, the previously somber state disappeared entirely.

I'll leave it til later.
I'll do my homework in an hour.
I'll forget about my imbecile English 100 classmates.

The jazz hands stopped.

I stood and walked over to the window in my room. I opened it and sat there, on the window sill, enjoying the crispy fresh air of the night. Everything was so calm. I felt calm. Homework seemed a little more inviting now. I felt re-inspired. I can do this.I swung my legs back inside, picked up my pencil and lay there on my back. My legs propped back up on the wall. The blood rushed to my head. My how the light bounces off of this so abstractly. I lay there gazing at the pencil....

I Love Life.