Magic Bus, Melancholia, Desperate Paper Writing, Alarm Clock Failure,
And Dactylic Hextameter.

More misadventures in the realm of Sobriety. Keeping myself clean for a History Paper that has consumed my concerns for almost a week and half, I found myself at the cusp of completing the four page asssignment last night before the Midnight target I had set for myself.

The Boom/Click of Reformatting destroyed that dream and left me gasping for breath. I was doing laundry in the O-Zone. I wanted to toke up outside and be done with the paper that had consumed my soul.

There was nothing to be done. The Re-Formatting was unreversible. Only 2 and half hours of correction would make it work. It was the only way.

Eventually, I went to get my clothes out of the dryer. They had been in the machine for nearly an hour and half. But the clothes weren't dry. There was no heat in the machine.

Vaguely I remembered the Out of Order sign on the machine when I put my clothes in. At the time it seemed like a move to reserve the dryer. The place was packed with people. I couldn't afford to wait. I put the clothes in the machine, the money in the coin slot and watched it begin to revolve.

Out of Order? Nice Try. I knew how to see the work of shiesters and charlatans.

By Midnight, with no clear end of my paperwork in sight, I realized that the machine was indeed out of order. I got money and started the drying in another unit.

It would be a long night. I would get the clothes later.

I would be up when this hour of drying was complete.

By 2:15, I had finally finished the paper and created a new intro. I closed the computer and went back to the room.

I remembered the laundry and picked up the clothes. On my way I secretly expected all of my boxers to be gone- stolen no doubt, by the manifested figure of my dire fate.

The clothes were all there though, and I came up to my room with a basket full of freshly washed shirts, jackets, underwear and more.

I went to sleep, conciously setting the alarm for 9:30 AM.

There would be time for another once over and a for a revision. There would be time to print and correct last minute errors in the text. The essay was due at 10:30 exactly. There would be time.

Dreams gave way to pure sunshine. I gave the alarm clock a glance and jumped up. Liquid Crystals displayed the time for all the room to witness- it was 10:30.

I hopped up- panickedly printed my paper and dashed out the door. There was no time for revision. There was no time to even ascertain that the paper I had printed was indeed the final draft of the essay in question.

NO TIME.

I ran up to the Pembroke Campus a good 1/2 mile up hill. It was five blocks. I did it in about one minute. When I got into the classroom, the Professor was finalizing the pile of papers and looking around the room distractedly. I feigned a trip and slid the paper into the pile.

I retreated, and prayed that the horrors of the last 24 hours might somehow yield true genius and a high letter grade.

The pessimist in me however reveals another sentiment: the righteous expectations of my soul are highly unlikely.