So what exactly do we use to commemorate another turn around the sun?
Sex would be the standard I guess, or getting so drunk that I can't see anything beyond the glasses which would be perched precariously on the table in front of me. Maybe wake up in a puddle of fear vomit and liquor. Yeah, that'd be right.
I don't do that though. I can't anymore. I probably would physically be able to, but I can't. I'd be disgusted with myself. I'll get drunk, sure. I'll try to push my limits. But it becomes different. It's like I'm playing at something and I'm not even convincing myself. I'm too angry.
I drive through campus lately, and I just get infuriated. We're asleep. I want to fix that.
A story, then bed, as I have an 8 am class tomorrow. Hopefully I haven't been too melancholy for you, but if so, live with it. Life is full of disappointment and there are a lot more disappointing people out there waiting for you.
This story? Kind of sucks. We'll see.
Slamming the door, he threw his backpack across the room. It hit the desk and bounced, spilling his pens and pencils in a rattling mess. His roommate didn't even stir.
The test had gone wrong, and what for? He'd studied, prepared and visited office hours multiple times. It hadn't mattered. Professor Twic had stood at the front of the room and it had seemed to him that whenever he glanced up, the professor had a smirk aimed directly at him. Bastard had to have figured out where his poor ratings came from last semester.
He flopped down in his chair and rubbed his face as the computer brought itself from sleep mode. He grabbed his calculator and prepared to log onto the class homework site. At least he could get some extra credit in. He grabbed the mouse but then stopped.
His desktop had changed. It wasn't the photo of two women kissing he had 'ironically' kept up for two years now, but a moving image, a view as if from a security camera. A small hallway led to a locked door, two bolts securing what looked to be an inner city flat. The lights were off but the room was lit in the grainy green of night vision, showing a tiny endtable and a closet, a key rack next to the door.
White text appeared on the bottom of the screen.
'There are no wrong answers'
'Professor Twic lives here'
'True or False'
"What the fuck?"
He typed true. As he hit enter, the bolts slid back and a jiggling at the knob indicated someone was unlocking the door. A man entered and locked it behind him. Turning on the light, he ran a hand back through his thinning hair. It was Professor Twic.
'Professor Twic has arrived home and needs to get rid of his jacket. Professor Twic's closet is full of:'
'C) BDSM equipment'
'D) Pick your own answer'
Confused, he chose A. He didn't know what was going on. It had to be a joke from one of the computer programmers down the hall. This was some weird shit.
Professor Twic opened his closet and hung up his coat next to what looked like dozens of the same one. This was bizarre.
'Twic walks down the hall and into his kitchen. He needs some food since he just got home from a long day of testing students. What is in his refrigerator? Remember. There are no. Wrong. Answers.'
He smiled. This was shaping up to be a pretty decent day after all.