Poverty

It's 4:44 on my bedroom clock. The only sign of human life around my neighborhood is my bedroom: the loud crackling of chips, the bedroom light turned on. The rooster is awake and so am I. But the disparity is I've been so since twelve hours ago (and still not feeling sleepy), but it has had its nightly rest. The bag of chips is left unmoved as of now, lying on the bed with a heap of art stuff: catalog envelopes, par avion envelopes, cartolinas, tissue papers, shears, colored cardboards, and what are left of sketches cut out into collage components. Forgive me for the term, but they seem to be having an orgy; for the current state of my bed-top is as foul and disgusting, if not worse, as the word "orgy" implies.

Fortunately, I have another bed, the one where my brother used to sleep. The current state of this other bed is less lousy, more welcoming, but nonetheless equally uncomfortable. I will not disclose to you what is on top of it, but I will disclose to you that if you had been my guest, you would not dare lie on it. Between the two beds is a desktop you cannot lay something on because of the pile of scattered papers wrung on top. Okay, "wrung" is for trash, and those on top of it aren't, but they're sort of trashy because they are so disorganized.

I can't believe what the long weekend does to people. First, it makes you the pretentious planner who lists things to do over the weekend. Then, you procrastinate and pretend you were the lead guitarist of Nirvana (Star Powers rock!!! Rock on!!!). And then, it converts you into this movie addict, who watches a dozen of films consecutively on Youtube, until right in the middle of a clip Youtube removes the video, thereby letting you destroy the deep sleeps of your neighbor through your ungodly shout right in the middle of the night (I swear, you'd shout too if you were in my shoes.). And so I predict that the last phase of the weekend will be devoted to cramming.

And to recount my days, I'll tell you four things:

One. Keep complaining until it dawns on you that your whining doesn't change anything.
Two. Stay up until three to study. Then wake up to study again, only to be clueless on an exam.
Three. What a great epiphany I've experienced last Saturday!! While I was making up for missed PE sessions, I learned that to create strikes and spares, you'd have to target the floor, not the pins. Translated to the language of life, you mustn't think of your consequences more than you think of your actions. Or, you mustn't care for the future more than you should of the present.
Four. Michael Phelps is not as awesome as I am. Hahaha. And because I will be attending a swimming party this Friday, I just realized I have nothing categorized as swimwear but trunks. GMO! And I don't wear trunks in public, because time will stop and people will stare at me. So I have to purchase board shorts. And God only knows how impoverished I am (Ok, I'll shut up before mental images of Africa start flickering). But I really, really, really have to buy board shorts (and a DSLR, and books, and a new laptop) or else people will realize how scrawny and kiddish I am with the trunks.

Do me a favor. Win the lotto for me. Ok, I shall now sleep. Time: 5:22. The sun is rising.