The Webs We Weave

I put on my headphone to escape the sounds of my roommates. The Street Fighter II Turbo, the constant and never ending whistling from down the hall. Of which is the chorus from the same song for the last three weeks.

The sound of the blender at 6 a.m., the never-ending laughter when I am trying to go to sleep. The feeling of waking up in a freezing room. The paying for food I never see, or get to eat. The preparation of meals without gratitude. The few of many things I will not miss when I move out of my current living situation.

I used celery sticks for spoons in my peanut butter because all the other utensils are in the dishwasher, still dirty from the last three dinners. The bleeding of my ears from the music turned up so loud to drown out the annoying existence of roommates. The desire to stay on campus until late hours to avoid it all. Their lack of understanding of common sense — my declining level of patience.

The sound my car makes when I turn it on and it isn't the perfect operating temperature. The way it feels when running for more than five minutes. The way it dies in bumper-to-bumper traffic.

The way I am treated by my peers, the ignorance, the back stabbing, the undermining of intelligence. Who needs that now? I have the rest of my life for people to tell me what I am not made of. No more guilt trips from teachers on a bid for power. No more lugging 50+ pounds of books around and never using them even though they are "required."

No more ... no more interest in writing this anymore.