The wind blows and the chips fall and the time ticks away. The sun rises and falls, and the day advances. The alarm clock blares, and with a groping reach I smack it. The responsibilities of another day and another week and another semester weigh down on me. What does tomorrow hold? More of the same. More of the same. The deadlines will come and the deadlines will go. The pressure will eventually release, and I’ll shout for joy. But until then I’m trapped in this box. The walls are closing in and the air is running out. What do I do? What does anybody do? This box must be glass, because no one else sees me struggle, like a rat in a cage. It’s been said that people in glass boxes should always wear clothes. You have to find some way to hide behind the naked hurt inside. You shouldn’t throw stones at people in glass boxes either. They’ve already been shattered. But what do I know? I’m just a stupid kid. Not quite a bus driver, but maybe close. They see you’ve lost that loving feeling, and the waitress laughs and forgets my coffee cake. She doesn’t know. And neither do you. I can’t expect you to. The feeling may not be gone, but it’s definitely being questioned. Not by me, but by you. But your questioning causes my heart to ache. It just doesn’t understand. I try to be patient. I cling to that patience. But the only way I survive is to bury my hurt under a pile of busyness. If it’s lost beneath the pile of papers on my desk it can’t hurt me, can it? What you don’t know can’t hurt you. What you cannot see is not there. Is that so? I don’t know. But I don’t think so. You should know so. I don’t question what is happening. I just wish it would hurry up and be over with. That’s the joy of it though, isn’t it. What’s one year of pain in a life of sixty-eight? Well, it’s one year. Insignificant then, but monumental now. Ironic, isn’t it. But that’s life. That’s life. Is anybody out there? Yes, you are and no, you aren’t. Yes you are, because you all think I’m nuts. And no you’re not, because you just don’t understand.

I think I’m going to go for a walk now.

(To everyone concerned about my psychological state: Don’t worry, I’m just having fun expressing my feelings by throwing every reference that comes to mind in there. See how many you can pick out. Songs and quotes and such. It’s kind of a game. Mom, this means you.)