A Week Devoid

The lukewarm cup of coffee looks back at me, as did the previous five; my only companions through the hours. My insomniac kitten even snores; signaling that I should sleep. When will it end? I wonder; programmatically programming this program.

These professors must hate me, maniacally assigning projects the same week. Is it too late to become an art major? Oh how cool it would be, to simply look out my window for the night’s duties, and scribble something on paper; much like my writing career; an electronic scribble.

The roaches on the floor do amazing things, when observed. They mate feverishly, for hours on end, as if when scurrying normally, there’s always a tinier roach ventral, humping away. Steer clear of my coffee cup, I yell to the happy couple; a coitus producing cajillions more rambunctious walking seeds; a brown, reminiscent of a coffee bean, as I sip with a smile.

This fish tank is driving me insane, yet I detune from its beautiful sounds of urination. As I lean to check the turtles, they too snore; producing a short trail of air bubbles. Lucky Bastards! I yell, knocking my malnourished knuckles against the glass; resentment, across my sour face.

Mom talks to me from the bedroom, whispering amidst dry inhalations; each breath, promoting conversation. Shut the hell up god dammit, I yell, in reply to a story about her day at work; trying to work.

Right, work; time for another cup.

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