Snowed In

Slow mornings

32A339D6-6BB9-4D08-901D-AF7A4A3C9FE0


When it snows you have two choices: shovel or make snow angels

~Unknown

 

Snow makes for long days. Mornings where the sun becomes impatient and gets up early. Nights that come too soon to fall asleep. It was the beginning of December, too early to be counting down the days before Christmas. With Midterm exams looming and break seeming farther than ever. Life had grinded to a mind numbing halt. Snow makes for long days.

The weatherman on channel six pointed to the fog of green over Massachusetts prophesying our doom. “Get your snow pants on because it’s gonna be a bad one.” The snow plow who comes to our house was out with Covid for the week. My mom turned to me and said, “set an alarm for 6.”

I am not a morning person. I get up last in my family and that’s how I like it. So when my mom told me I was shoveling the drive I wanted to protest. Anyone who has ever talked to their mom knows to never talk back, because you will never win. She could see that my frown was drooping down to the floor so she offered to make pancakes in the morning after I had finished shoveling.

     The night before my big snowy morning I set my early alarm. I placed my boots neatly before the door. And went to sleep dreaming that the snow didn't come at all. My alarm went off at 6:00 with the ringing chimes vibrating my bed. I lifted my head and sat up and without thinking turned it off and went back to bed. My limbs felt like they were chained down with comfort. Thankfully my mother shouted, “MAX, UP” which shocked me into standing straight up and leaping out of bed. 

    I took my morning shower, got dressed, and put on my winter boots, which were nicely laid out, and headed out. Shovel in hand I got to work picking up the snow and shoveling it. I wish I had also put out a coat or some earmuffs because I could feel the tingling moving down my body from the cold. My shovel grinded against the pavement scooping up the snow curling it like a wave until it crashed down against the side of the road. The snow would crumple under my feet revealing an icy trap beneath me. The only warmth I had was from the heat of my arms pushing snow away.  I kept repeating the motion of pushing and lifting till it hurt to do so. Then I had to do the other side. I felt the cold and exhaustion setting in halfway through with the other side and put my mind on the promised pancakes. Sleepy headed I went through the motions barely putting any force behind my pushing. As I pushed and lifted for the last time I looked back at the hill I had started on and wondered if the pancakes were ready. I dragged my feet along the freshly cleaned road proud of what I had done. I opened the garage door and had never been happier to be in a garage as it was even slightly warmer than the outside. I walked to the shelf nearby the car holding my shovel up high with a round of imaginary applause and cheering. I set my shovel against the wall and hurried upstairs. I thought to myself that I would only now just be waking up. It felt as if I had been awake for years but I wasn't tired in the slightest anymore. I was energized at the thought that I had just finished shoveling our driveway but I had more I could do. It felt like the longest day ever yet I wasn't tired. I was excited for all that I would be able to do. Snow makes for long days. 

 


Snowed In

Slow mornings

32A339D6-6BB9-4D08-901D-AF7A4A3C9FE0


When it snows you have two choices: shovel or make snow angels

~Unknown

 

Snow makes for long days. Mornings where the sun becomes impatient and gets up early. Nights that come too soon to fall asleep. It was the beginning of December, too early to be counting down the days before Christmas. With Midterm exams looming and break seeming farther than ever. Life had grinded to a mind numbing halt. Snow makes for long days.

The weatherman on channel six pointed to the fog of green over Massachusetts prophesying our doom. “Get your snow pants on because it’s gonna be a bad one.” The snow plow who comes to our house was out with Covid for the week. My mom turned to me and said, “set an alarm for 6.”

I am not a morning person. I get up last in my family and that’s how I like it. So when my mom told me I was shoveling the drive I wanted to protest. Anyone who has ever talked to their mom knows to never talk back, because you will never win. She could see that my frown was drooping down to the floor so she offered to make pancakes in the morning after I had finished shoveling.

     The night before my big snowy morning I set my early alarm. I placed my boots neatly before the door. And went to sleep dreaming that the snow didn't come at all. My alarm went off at 6:00 with the ringing chimes vibrating my bed. I lifted my head and sat up and without thinking turned it off and went back to bed. My limbs felt like they were chained down with comfort. Thankfully my mother shouted, “MAX, UP” which shocked me into standing straight up and leaping out of bed. 

    I took my morning shower, got dressed, and put on my winter boots, which were nicely laid out, and headed out. Shovel in hand I got to work picking up the snow and shoveling it. I wish I had also put out a coat or some earmuffs because I could feel the tingling moving down my body from the cold. My shovel grinded against the pavement scooping up the snow curling it like a wave until it crashed down against the side of the road. The snow would crumple under my feet revealing an icy trap beneath me. The only warmth I had was from the heat of my arms pushing snow away.  I kept repeating the motion of pushing and lifting till it hurt to do so. Then I had to do the other side. I felt the cold and exhaustion setting in halfway through with the other side and put my mind on the promised pancakes. Sleepy headed I went through the motions barely putting any force behind my pushing. As I pushed and lifted for the last time I looked back at the hill I had started on and wondered if the pancakes were ready. I dragged my feet along the freshly cleaned road proud of what I had done. I opened the garage door and had never been happier to be in a garage as it was even slightly warmer than the outside. I walked to the shelf nearby the car holding my shovel up high with a round of imaginary applause and cheering. I set my shovel against the wall and hurried upstairs. I thought to myself that I would only now just be waking up. It felt as if I had been awake for years but I wasn't tired in the slightest anymore. I was energized at the thought that I had just finished shoveling our driveway but I had more I could do. It felt like the longest day ever yet I wasn't tired. I was excited for all that I would be able to do. Snow makes for long days. 

 


  5-of-the-Best-Routes-to-Run-in-Boston



Strength doesn’t come from winning. Your struggles develop your strengths

-Arnold Schwarzenegger 

 

Crew is a sport for the strong. The juniors and seniors who can lift cars with one hand. The grown looking men who live by the weight room. It has no place for freshman looking who’ll quit when they feel like it. Amongst a group of upperclassmen who had known each other for years competing together there was a lone freshman. I felt as out of place as a fish in a sandstorm. 

        Thursday, March 24, Watertown, at 4PM on the Charles river. Clouds thick and dark enough that you could mistake it for night. Cold rain hit the gravel along the river with a hard thud. The coach emerging from the dark corner behind his desk glided across the floor with a ghostly presence. Without a wasted moment he raised while looking at his clipboard bringing the 70 person crowd to a dead silence. In a shrill voice he spoke calmly, “I see a new face or two in the crowd today and a lot of familiar ones. Well boys you're going to give me your best or you have no place here. Now that said, we can get started.” 

Not even a sentence in and I could feel the respect he commanded in an audience of high schoolers who all looked strong enough to be mistaken for gym trainers. He spoke with an authority that could be felt in a one mile radius: “We will be doing today: The Watertown Loop” an activity that inspired excitement amongst the crowd. They all began shouting things like: “I'm gonna crush this”, “Hey how much you wanna bet I get sub 30 minutes this time”, or “I bet Harrys gonna get 40 minutes again”. 

He shouted over the the mob, 

“For those of you who don’t know what the Watertown Loop is, you will be running through Watertown center and returning back here. Now you will take a right at the bridge and another right at the park, Then just follow the bike trail back here. Simple enough right? Alright see you when your done and be fast” 

    I have never been a good runner and knew that this would be the death of me. I stood like a plant in the corner of the room silently watching on.  The crowd vanished in a dead sprint leaving me behind bewildered and frozen in place. “Are you lining up or not?” Not knowing where I was going I scampered along to the sidewalk just to escape his sight. I saw the group of boys lining up along the sidewalk with a look of deadly seriousness in their eyes. The fun air of that I had felt before when they were comparing their times was dead on the ground.  The crisp air caught on my jacket and poked out my eyes. To the right of our sidewalk was a traffic jam holding up a hundred or so cars all honking like it would make the line go faster.

    As he started the timer and we all took off I already felt the others pulling ahead. Stamina has never been something I have had a lot of and I not even five minutes in I could feel my lack of preparedness setting in. I watched ahead in awe as the other kids pushed on and I cursed at myself for struggling to keep up. Every bone in my body wanted to keep going and run as hard; however,  my legs didn’t agree. I felt my spirit being crushed by the weight of every runner passing me by. As they passed they would say, “On your left” like I didn't know that they were faster than me. I let my mind wander to try and distract myself from the hell my legs were going through. I focused on the sound of the rain hitting the river and the beeping of cars. But louder than all of Watertown was the pain in my feet. They burned like embers In a fire, stoked, fed, and scolding hot. I matched my breathing with the slapping of the river against the bank and tried to keep a good pace. I tried not to focus on my speed but as more kids kept passing me I said to myself, “I'll make it up in the end by keeping a steady pace the whole way through” however I knew that wasn't going to happen.

    My mouth felt like sandpaper chewing away at my tongue. I lost track of the time as the feeling of my feet hitting the ground took over my mind. I felt the pace of my breath picking up until I couldn't continue. I took a second to slow down my pace and catch my breath, yet I found myself resting longer than I wanted. Passing me by an older guy, maybe a senior shouted from behind, “C'MON MAN KEEP RUNNIN, YOU CAN'T STOP OR YOU'LL HAVE A TOUGH TIME GOING AGAIN”. I felt motivated to start running again but when I went to lift my feet again I felt twice as heavy as if I was carrying bowling balls and wearing clown shoes while running. 

I pushed myself against everything my body said to keep going. Ahead I saw a guy who was also struggling so I ran ahead to make a friend to run with. I thought that if I at least had one other person it would make it more bearable. I pulled up beside him and said, 

“Hey you struggling too?” 

“Yeah I suck at running, man I wish we were doing weights instead of this.”

He seemed to be more tired than I was and was holding onto his chest. I asked, “Hey you ok man, I have my phone so I could call someone if you need them.” 

“Yeah I have asthma so naturally I kind of suck at running, It feels like my lungs are about to explode.” 

“Sorry dude you gonna be ok? Think you can make it?”

“I'll probably be fine but imma need to walk for a bit”

“yeah I feel you there, I'll walk with you”

    I learned that his name was Jason and lived nearby me. He was a big guy, but slow and tired easily. We ended up talking about life and games. We jogged for a bit and pushed each other to try our best. During a tryout for a team I desperately wanted to be on, competing against seniors and juniors, I had made friends with the asthmatic kid. I pushed him to try and run for as long as he could in bursts and we did it together. I despised everything about that day. I was a broken tired boy who was out of his league. Despite being petrified of everything that happened that day I showed up to the next tryout a day later. I was surprised that the intimidating aura surrounding the boys distancing myself from them had dissipated. Actually, days after the tryouts ended I missed the daily runs we would go on and the feeling of my legs burning. You could call me a psychopath for enjoying an experience that left me aching like an old man every night. The friends I made in trying my best through struggling were ultimately what replaced the struggling with joy. I was a scratched up fish who made it through the desert. 




Equality Of Health

Equality of Health

The Value of Life

512979B7-DF95-49A9-9B82-CAA6F902430DI believe Equality is For Everyone

-Mahatma Gandhi

 

~Max Lo

 

    Equality of health is an essential part of a just society. Every person should be deserving of improving their health and dealing with disease. Healthcare is a basic human right and the current privatized system is a classist,  racist and an inhuman violation of it.

 

The value of life can't be monetized. So charging people for it is inhumane, because Healthcare is a necessity not a luxury. Every single person on the earth will need or needs healthcare, which is why we need universal healthcare now-not tomorrow. A study from Harvard researchers states

not having healthcare causes around 44,789 deaths per year. 44,789 deaths per year means that there is a 40% increased risk of death for people who are uninsured.

 Yes, universal healthcare is too expensive. But universal healthcare is too important. Without healthcare the flu or cold, which can be treated with a single shot, can become life threatening. For families that have no room in the budget, healthcare puts an unnecessary strain on their income. Choosing between three meals a day or healthcare. When faced with that decision, healthcare seems a lot less important. Universal healthcare not only heals people but it also puts food on the table, gas in the car, and extends lives.

 

    The world is divided into social castes of healthcare and the privatized system the US uses now define the walls that separate us. Privatized healthcare in America is a racist system that keeps minorities from getting their needed treatments. The current system used in the US was designed from the beginning to hurt African Americans. In a New York Times article on the subject Jeneen Interlandi said 

The American Medical Association barred black doctors; medical schools excluded black students, and most hospitals and health clinics segregated black patients. Federal health care policy was designed, both implicitly and explicitly, to exclude black Americans.

From its creation American healthcare has been undermining minorities' success in the US. Universal healthcare would put an end to that. A paper posted by the American College of Physicians points out that

Minorities have less access to health care than whites. The level of uninsurance for Hispanics is 34% compared with 13% among whites. Nationally, minority women are more likely to avoid a doctor’s visit due to cost.

While you could argue that these are relics of the past and have all been fixed by now. The system in place today still bears the same scars and has the same racist foundation that it was built upon. Access to healthcare represents more than just being able to be treated for diseases or injuries. The current system divides the populace. The rich people who are predominantly white receive the top notch healthcare and service. While lower class citizens who are predominantly minorities don't receive access to these facilities and treatments that they need. A rich person and a poor person can have the same disease and one comes out healthy and one dies an avoidable death. Universal healthcare would put an end to this divide. We will never be a free and fair country to all people if all people aren’t allowed access to the same resources they need to be treated.

 

    Privatized healthcare hurts the quality and the stability of health for Americans. Private healthcare is at its core built as a business and as a business their goal is to make a profit. So as a result they try to underprovide and cut margins wherever possible. A Forbes article posted on the topic mentions

A health plan that is good for sick people attracts more sick people and that is not in the self-interest of anyone who is in charge. Ironically, failing to meet all the needs of people who are sick can be profit maximizing. 

While it can be argued that private healthcare brings down the price, the improvement in quality and assurance that it is designed with people in mind outweighs that. Profiting off the sickness of others to cut corners is the hallmark of private healthcare. If a universal healthcare system were implemented in the US it would bring better health to the majority of people. The privatized healthcare system in America is built around shaving margins whether that means lowering quality or raising prices leaving drastic effects on the people of America. 


    Universal healthcare is a necessity of life and the deprivation of it in the United States is a shame upon the country. Every other major developed country in the world has universal healthcare and we find ourselves lacking behind clinging to an old, racist and classist system. Before we can ask the future citizens of America to continue its legacy we have to ensure that all citizens of America can live to see that future. 


WW Fenn: Excerpt from The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian

 

 

 

An Excerpt From the Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian

By Sherman Alexie 

 

I draw because words are too unpredictable.

I draw because words are too limited.

you speak and write in English, or Spanish, or Chinese, or any other language, then only a certain percentage of human beings will get your meaning.

But when you draw a picture, everybody can understand it.

If I draw a cartoon of a flower, then every man, woman, and child in the world can look at it and say, “That’s a flower.”

So I draw because I want to talk to the world. And I want the world to pay attention to me.

I feel important with a pen in my hand. I feel like I might grow up to be somebody important. An artist. Maybe a famous artist. Maybe a rich artist.

That’s the only way I can become rich and famous.

Just take a look at the world. Almost all of the rich and famous brown people are artists. They’re singers and actors and writers and dancers and directors and poets.

So I draw because I feel like it might be my only real chance to escape the reservation.

I think the world is a series of broken dams and floods, and my cartoons are tiny little lifeboats.

 

Continue reading "WW Fenn: Excerpt from The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian" »


Exam Meta Cognition

Freedom to Waste

 

A week of exams is worth almost twice as much as a regular test. Unlimited things to learn with such a limited time I was forced with a decision. I chose to spend the majority of my time focused on Latin, Global, and Math. Now even though I spend hours practicing for these exams I still get scared just thinking about them. But this didn't leave a lot of time left for English. I have always been pretty good in english and I can write a pretty good essay. The only chunk of time I could find to finish my essay and do the Microworx was Thursday night. Right before the english exam. I realize now that I could have worked on my essay and microworx over the weekend before. How foolish it seems that I spent two days watching Netflix when I could have just spent a couple hours finishing this essay and this would all be so much easier. For next year wherever I land I should try and get as much as I can in the free time given. Because free time is rare and far between.


The Bonds Of Brotherhood

    

Bonds of Brotherhood

No one is ever alone

16FBECE2-8030-4EC2-9A80-858954B2F4A7

Good Brotherhood is the Best Wealth

-A Russian Proverb

 

    When life is distilled to its most basic it gives you more appreciation for what is really important. When Santiago sets out to sea and is without the comforts of land he is forced to think about the basic necessities. He returns home with nothing but the skeleton of a marlin who kept him at sea for five days and the appreciation of the brothers he has around him.

    Santiago, four days into fighting with the marlin, weary and hungry, with senses impaired reflected on the beauty of the fish and the brotherhood between them.

You are killing me, fish, the old man thought. But you have a right to. Never have I seen a greater, or more beautiful, or a calmer or more noble thing than you, brother. [Day Four]

Santiago has respect for the fish. Over the days of fighting with him, he has grown accustomed to the fish tugging, and frequently talks to him. The differences between man and nature became less apparent. Both of them are brothers who live off the sea. 

    The Fish, floating belly up, silvery and still laid out on the ocean. Four days on the sea Santiago with a harpoon in hand began to attach the Marlin to the side of the boat. “I am a tired old man. But I have killed this fish which is my brother and now I must do the slave work.” [Day Five] He respected the fish as a brother and had to honor his life. He couldn’t have succeeded in killing the marlin without developing a sense of empathy to understand his prey. There is Irony in that he couldn’t kill his brother without developing empathy sufficient to understand it.

    Before the sun came into view and after the light began stretching across the sky Santiago took in the world around him. Fish slowing down its tugging for morning rest gave a moment for Santiago to reflect on his solitude.

He looked across the sea and knew how alone he was now. But he could see the prisms in the deep dark water and the line stretching ahead and the strange undulation of the calm. The clouds were building up now for the trade wind and he looked ahead and saw a flight of wild ducks etching themselves against the sky over the water, then blurring, then etching again and he knew no man was ever alone on the sea.[Day 3]

It wasn't until he was alone in the conventional sense of the word that he was forced to focus on the few remaining elements that surrounded him: the water, ducks, and sky. it was only then that he found his truest brotherhood in the basic elements that he never appreciated before

    At its core. brotherhood transcends age, and species. Brotherhood is an alliance against the elements. Santiago, a loner by nature, finds brotherhood in the fish, the sea, and his friend Mandolin. All he needs is his brothers to get by. He is content with his friends and what he has. The Old Man and the Sea is a book that will make you reflect upon the value of your relationships. Old Man and the Sea isn't a book for those who aren’t willing to read it again. Hidden beneath the deceptively complex waves of the book is deeper meaning. It forces you to find your own meaning of the story. Rarely have I found a book that the lesson learned is whatever you make of it. While the vocabulary of the book isn't very difficult, the real challenge comes from the depth of the words.  I planned on reading this book spread out across a week. The first day I found myself already done with it. I thought the points in between action would bore me as they do with other books. But with Old Man and the Sea, Santiago’s inner monologue that takes place inbetween the conventional action is what defines the book as it is really about the emotions of the protagonist in between the moments of wrestling with the fish. The subdued pace of these in between moments gives Santiago space to explore his dreams and feelings about life. You get to see his character progress from a one dimensional,  old fisherman who is distant from society to a person with feelings and complex emotions. Brotherhood is a constant theme of Old Man and The Sea. Whether it is brotherhood between him and the boy when he wishes “if the boy were here” or between him and the sea. Santiago illustartes that that support and brotherhood can be found anywhere you look. Alone, tired, and restless, Santiago never felt alone. Three days on the water with no human contact and he never felt alone. He said to himself “no man was ever alone on the sea.” He found brotherhood in the fish around him. And that gave him the motivation to keep going. Like Santiago, I need to find brotherhood in the things around me to help me to persevere through my upcoming exams, school applications, and performances. Old Man and the Sea is a book that necessitates the attention of the reader. It tells a story of brotherhood that transcends age. It tells a story of brotherhood between man and nature. It tells a story that challenges the very idea of brotherhood. It tells a story of an old man and his love for the sea. Throughout the book you are forced to confront the “brothers” in your life and appreciate them for what they do. 




The Bonds Of Brotherhood

    

Bonds of Brotherhood

No one is ever alone

16FBECE2-8030-4EC2-9A80-858954B2F4A7

Good Brotherhood is the Best Wealth

-A Russian Proverb

 

    When life is distilled to its most basic it gives you more appreciation for what is really important. When Santiago sets out to sea and is without the comforts of land he is forced to think about the basic necessities. He returns home with nothing but the skeleton of a marlin who kept him at sea for five days and the appreciation of the brothers he has around him.

    Santiago, four days into fighting with the marlin, weary and hungry, with senses impaired reflected on the beauty of the fish and the brotherhood between them.

You are killing me, fish, the old man thought. But you have a right to. Never have I seen a greater, or more beautiful, or a calmer or more noble thing than you, brother. [Day Four]

Santiago has respect for the fish. Over the days of fighting with him, he has grown accustomed to the fish tugging, and frequently talks to him. The differences between man and nature became less apparent. Both of them are brothers who live off the sea. 

    The Fish, floating belly up, silvery and still laid out on the ocean. Four days on the sea Santiago with a harpoon in hand began to attach the Marlin to the side of the boat. “I am a tired old man. But I have killed this fish which is my brother and now I must do the slave work.” [Day Five] He respected the fish as a brother and had to honor his life. He couldn’t have succeeded in killing the marlin without developing a sense of empathy to understand his prey. There is Irony in that he couldn’t kill his brother without developing empathy sufficient to understand it.

    Before the sun came into view and after the light began stretching across the sky Santiago took in the world around him. Fish slowing down its tugging for morning rest gave a moment for Santiago to reflect on his solitude.

He looked across the sea and knew how alone he was now. But he could see the prisms in the deep dark water and the line stretching ahead and the strange undulation of the calm. The clouds were building up now for the trade wind and he looked ahead and saw a flight of wild ducks etching themselves against the sky over the water, then blurring, then etching again and he knew no man was ever alone on the sea.[Day 3]

It wasn't until he was alone in the conventional sense of the word that he was forced to focus on the few remaining elements that surrounded him: the water, ducks, and sky. it was only then that he found his truest brotherhood in the basic elements that he never appreciated before

    At its core. brotherhood transcends age, and species. Brotherhood is an alliance against the elements. Santiago, a loner by nature, finds brotherhood in the fish, the sea, and his friend Mandolin. All he needs is his brothers to get by. He is content with his friends and what he has. The Old Man and the Sea is a book that will make you reflect upon the value of your relationships. Old Man and the Sea isn't a book for those who aren’t willing to read it again. Hidden beneath the deceptively complex waves of the book is deeper meaning. It forces you to find your own meaning of the story. Rarely have I found a book that the lesson learned is whatever you make of it. While the vocabulary of the book isn't very difficult, the real challenge comes from the depth of the words.  I planned on reading this book spread out across a week. The first day I found myself already done with it. I thought the points in between action would bore me as they do with other books. But with Old Man and the Sea, Santiago’s inner monologue that takes place inbetween the conventional action is what defines the book as it is really about the emotions of the protagonist in between the moments of wrestling with the fish. The subdued pace of these in between moments gives Santiago space to explore his dreams and feelings about life. You get to see his character progress from a one dimensional,  old fisherman who is distant from society to a person with feelings and complex emotions. Brotherhood is a constant theme of Old Man and The Sea. Whether it is brotherhood between him and the boy when he wishes “if the boy were here” or between him and the sea. Santiago illustartes that that support and brotherhood can be found anywhere you look. Alone, tired, and restless, Santiago never felt alone. Three days on the water with no human contact and he never felt alone. He said to himself “no man was ever alone on the sea.” He found brotherhood in the fish around him. And that gave him the motivation to keep going. Like Santiago, I need to find brotherhood in the things around me to help me to persevere through my upcoming exams, school applications, and performances. Old Man and the Sea is a book that necessitates the attention of the reader. It tells a story of brotherhood that transcends age. It tells a story of brotherhood between man and nature. It tells a story that challenges the very idea of brotherhood. It tells a story of an old man and his love for the sea. Throughout the book you are forced to confront the “brothers” in your life and appreciate them for what they do. 




School Letters

Dear Admissions Committee,



    To judge someone’s values requires that you have lived long enough and seen enough to know what to look for. As a young high school student I don't have much of this. However throughout my life I have seen what makes the difference between annoying and interesting people. Exercising respect, honesty, and happiness are the hallmarks of the kindest and best friends to have. 

Continue reading "School Letters" »


Thoughts

Stupid world. Stupid time slowing me down from what I want to do. Everything is so slow. Thoughts racing like cars. Noise spreads across the room. Booming voices vibrating vocal cords like a guitar string. The world is music. Everyone is part of a orchestra and everyone has the notes except me. I’m in a play without a script. Fitz looks at me and I stare back. I fall into a void of my own thoughts. Spacing out into space. Nothing but me. All alone. I can't tell if it is heaven or hell. Sometimes all I wish is to be alone but other times i am dying for company. Shit i Fitz is still looking at me. Am I supposed to do something. Heart pumping faster. He looks down at his computer and i relax back into a couch of words. What am I even writing. I am not even thinking about what I’m writing. Not even looking at the ipad or the keyboard. Just looking at my surroundings. Examining everything i see. Will and base being idiots in the corner. My heat raised on the desk. I can't tell if this is more comfortable or less. My body slipping in the chair down in the seat. I sit here paralyzed by writing everything I think and feel and i'm still slipping. I am approaching the edge of the seat. I pull my legs up and lift them off the desk. The clicking and clacking of everyone else writing. Click clack click clack. So unrhythmically it becomes white noise. All I can think about is sleep. Clock ticks. Keyboard clacks. The subtle swing of the guitar hanging on the wall. All is in unison. My mind goes to food. What do I want? What do we have? I hope its good. I hope it will at least be something I want to eat. I hope there are chips. But not the stupid baked lays. I dont want a stupid lunch. Lunch is stupid. Hunger is stupid. The world is stupid.