I Couldn’t Finish My Book

Staring at a ceiling for minutes at a time, when was the last time you did that? Most of us do it as a reaction to exasperation, exhaustion, or stress. We blankly┬ástare to a still, plain canvas that hovers above our head, to break away from our continuous thoughts that play in our minds–a normal human condition that extends our resistance for work. If that’s the case, it would seem that I’ve asked the wrong question. So let me rephrase it. When was the last time you freely decided to stare at a ceiling for minutes at a time?

I’m at Saint’s Alp Teahouse typing this on my iPod, taking brief moments to stare unto this black painted, egg carton covered ceiling. Before I was so desperately trying to find a muse to this writing, I was reading The Family Fang, a book that I decided to finish by the end of the day.

To my left is a group of Atenean freshmen that unexpectedly have a novel each. I am so taken aback by this that I keep staring at their hands. I’ve never seen such a group of people like this in Taft. I check around to make sure I wasn’t jumping my gun, and I see other people reading as well.

To my right is a beautiful Atenean girl studying Physics. I enjoy her company since I do enjoy beautiful women. Even though we’re not talking to each other, the one-foot of air between us is very comfortable. I could stay in this spot for hours–and I have. Continue reading “I Couldn’t Finish My Book”