(no subject)
I haven't been very productive of late, so I figured I'd come up with an easy way to convey the last month or so in a series of snapshots.
Goldfish that live in the alligator-turtle tank, regarding a discarded piece of catfish. Contemplating cannibalism or mourning a relation, I guess we'll never know.
This is an image I hastily scribed onto a chalkboard between classes.
I know it looks like just an ugly mattress, but that's just because you haven't slept in it before. This thing is a fucking rack. It is evil. And it is the only place I have to sleep.
Every night, on every hour, I wake up. Turn over. On the plus side this has had the interesting side effect of making me very good at telling lengths of time without the aide of a clock. On the minus side I no longer enjoy playing X-COM or Civilization nearly as much. Feeling the minutes tick by is just a joy-kill for the whole experience.
It feels like I'm transitioning into what I believe is called a polyphasic sleep cycle, which is attributed to such genius as Tom Edison and that's-about-it, the central idea of which being that you get very small units of sleep throughout the day. The whole idea has since been proven shitty in a variety of un-anecdotal ways, so more and more it looks like I'm headed over the precipe of Sanity Cataract and into the deep gorge of There Are Rats in the Fucking Walls. Which is entirely possible, if you note the white cinderblock in the photograph. That wall is also exterior and about as cold as you'd expect.
Add all this to the fact that the four dorm rooms around me are deserted and you've got the makings of an Asian horror movie. If I found out that hateful fucking air mattress was used as an altar for infant sacrifice during my school's dabbling with Satanic cults, I would not be surprised. If the stretched plastic/cloth bastard material said mattress is constructed of were to bulge outward with features demonic or deceivingly angelic, I would not be surprised. If it became a portal to some hellish otherverse where air is stone and stone is air, where the unit of sapience is as minor as an atom, I would be completely unsurprised. If Monks from Shangri'la showed up right this god damn fucking minute to reclaim their hidden city's foremost torture device, I would kiss their bangled feet and give them tea.