torpid
you've been staring at the laptop's screen quite long enough...., surfing through web pages, yet your scrollings don't even get you halfway down the page displayed. that's aside from the stacks of literature on your desk. you make a stab at taking one set and flipping the pages to look for something of import, you put it down again. take a glance at what's around you, it's not going to rain today. it's a good time to be working at the patio. thanks to a generous neighbor you can partake of the broadband connection.
the launchcast has been playing since you switched your messenger on; the r&b music eventually blended with the chirpings of the birds, the barks of your neighbor's pet, speeding tricycles, and the occasional "mommy, mommy" of the girl-child living in the next-door apartment.
you've been muttering words and phrases to yourself hoping they would cohere and arrive at an intelligible write up for your research. your mind wanders off every now and then, at times aimlessly. you shift to word each time a bulb in your head lights up; alt+tab, you scribble a few sentences then your mind goes blank again. alt+tab.
you stand up, walk with your hands around your waist, you notice the tip of your middle-fingers could touch each other. you smile, you realize the weeks of hardwork dancing along shanti's hip-hop abs video finally paid off.
you return to your chair, a stick of marlboro between your two fingers, you watch the smoke pollute the air, you mull over the chances of you getting lung cancer, but puffs anyway.
your mind drifts back to the research. you say to yourself, 'one good sentence, just one good sentence'. you think that one good sentence would get you out of the inertia. you remind yourself you only have four days left to finish a 200-page report. you sneer. you know it's a joke. but you need that silly joke to panic.
you are close to cursing yourself. it's almost 5 in the afternoon... you want to go to newsdesk later in the evening, have a bottle of beer. but you suspect you can't stop at one bottle. you hope a sound sleep follows the beer. but no, you don't want to sleep soundly, you don't want to snore. you want to dream about the research. you want that one good sentence.
you receive a text message, the sender knows you are not getting anywhere with your write-up. he says, "toink, good luck. hope to see you later."
your broadband connection...er, your neighbor's, start to act up. you are on the verge of losing connection to the outside world. now you panic. go back to word, you have no choice but to finish that research... at least, try to. alt+tab.
the launchcast has been playing since you switched your messenger on; the r&b music eventually blended with the chirpings of the birds, the barks of your neighbor's pet, speeding tricycles, and the occasional "mommy, mommy" of the girl-child living in the next-door apartment.
you've been muttering words and phrases to yourself hoping they would cohere and arrive at an intelligible write up for your research. your mind wanders off every now and then, at times aimlessly. you shift to word each time a bulb in your head lights up; alt+tab, you scribble a few sentences then your mind goes blank again. alt+tab.
you stand up, walk with your hands around your waist, you notice the tip of your middle-fingers could touch each other. you smile, you realize the weeks of hardwork dancing along shanti's hip-hop abs video finally paid off.
you return to your chair, a stick of marlboro between your two fingers, you watch the smoke pollute the air, you mull over the chances of you getting lung cancer, but puffs anyway.
your mind drifts back to the research. you say to yourself, 'one good sentence, just one good sentence'. you think that one good sentence would get you out of the inertia. you remind yourself you only have four days left to finish a 200-page report. you sneer. you know it's a joke. but you need that silly joke to panic.
you are close to cursing yourself. it's almost 5 in the afternoon... you want to go to newsdesk later in the evening, have a bottle of beer. but you suspect you can't stop at one bottle. you hope a sound sleep follows the beer. but no, you don't want to sleep soundly, you don't want to snore. you want to dream about the research. you want that one good sentence.
you receive a text message, the sender knows you are not getting anywhere with your write-up. he says, "toink, good luck. hope to see you later."
your broadband connection...er, your neighbor's, start to act up. you are on the verge of losing connection to the outside world. now you panic. go back to word, you have no choice but to finish that research... at least, try to. alt+tab.
Labels: ennui, sanity meter
