26/2/2010

Alarm goes off at 6. Vaguely recollect a dreadful dream about missing a deadline. Deadline was of fantasy football understandably, no other deadlines have been dealt with independently the past 4 years. Fall into an illusion, for about 20 mins, of being asleep with the snooze shattering it every 5 mins. Cussing ain’t the way to begin a brand new day filled with whole lot of opportunities, but who am I kidding? Everyday’s the goddamn same. Give a friend a ring and let it ring until he acknowledges. Spirits heighten knowing there is a fellow sufferer. Put a brush in the mouth and step out the door.

Put on the shoes, let the cobwebs be, remember forgetting to get them socks washed. Go to friend’s room, ask him why he isn’t up? ‘Watching porn late into the night, can’t make it’. Don’t coerce him, he was okay with an almost similar late night football excuse yesterday. Drag myself to the basketball court, no one’s there yet. Stand there waiting for a good 15 mins. Avoid eye-contact with passersby. Run across the court 10 times, curse the parched throat. Should have drank some water. Fail at hopping miserably, do some crunches, believe in ‘pain is good’. Call it a day. Count, up to 5.

Have breakfast, gaze at the oily hand, take bath, grab a book, go to class. No competition for attention between crazy Yossarian and intellectual drivel. Obediently avoid looking at the lecturer. Power cut and no generator back up. Very pleasing. Agree to scream ‘shit’ when the power comes back on, not when it goes. Attempt to illuminate the room by smiling. No such luck. Give attendance. Leave.

Go to room, sleep with alarm set for 13:15.  Do an encore with the snooze. 13:50, class at 1400, haven’t skipped a single class yet, let’s do that, go for lunch. Come back, update the fantasy teams, Villa and United not in action. Browse some more, come across Arshavin’s website, chuckle my ass off, tweet about it. Browse again, cancel the meals, 3 day vacation coming up, discover being granted a credit for movie appreciation. No need to go to PT again but guess I will.

Call dad, ask him to pick me up while going home. (Pack my bags, stuff back all those apples and oranges. Brave mom’s chagrin.) Tolerate him making fun of the Proteas. Reach home, switch on TV, do nothing. Ask mom for hard-disk ‘No, delete stuff from the old’. Ask dad for hard-disk ‘Wait till next month’s payday’. Tell him I can live with that.