One…Two… and Crunch Time

Ten o clock on a Sunday evening and the stress of needing to finish a paper before Monday has snowballed into complete insanity. The initial plan was to start around five and work until late tonight, but that plan went out the window, as I get easily distracted. First, as soon as I left my house to get dinner the local high school was having a parade with all the loud marching band music and budget floats that come with school parades. What I should have asked myself was why is the school having a parade at this random time? That thought, however, was shoved to the back of my mind as a more prominent goal of pushing my way through the crowds of people to get a good look at the procession. I looked down at my phone after the parade and to my horror saw it was already six thirty. I quickly jumped in my car and drove to the nearest fast food drive through I could find. I don’t exactly remember which one, all of them run together for me as temptations of cheap food that, while delicious, is most likely killing me slowly. Luckily for me, there was no line, so I place my order telling them I’m in a hurry, when the manager on the other side of the intercom began talking to me.

“Dave? Is that you?”

“Mike? No way! You’re the manager now?” I said excited about hear from my old college buddy.

“Yeah man, I’m moving up in the world!”

“Haven’t seen you for awhile how you been?”

“Not too bad man. Been busy with work and classes so haven’t been able to keep in touch as much.”

This conversation went on like this for much longer than expected as we both reminisced though the cracking fast food intercom, much to the anger of the car behind me. Soon the conversation ended, and I grabbed my food speeding home. I sat down at my computer with half a hamburger in my mouth and started typing rapidly into the blank Word document.

“Waiting for Godot is a metaphor for the struggle of the artist and the viewer to find meaning in art. The play can be compared to the French filmmaker Jean Cocteau and his recurring theme of the artist being transported to another world full of artistic wonders to find inspiration.”

I have no idea what I was saying. I was just throwing things that sounded smart onto the paper and hoping the professor would be able to make some sense of it. I was doing pretty well with time… but then the cat walked in. My roommate has this black cat named Cecil, and it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. So, of course, whenever that cat comes by I have to play with it, and tonight was no different.

By the time the cat got sick of me and walked out of the room the clock was already at nine fifty and I had only finished one paragraph of an eight-page paper. Right about now I’m just sitting in front of my computer monitor, mind blank, watching the line blink at the end of the last word I’d written. And you know what, I just realized something. Spending this amount of time recounting the time I’ve wasted today is wasting even more time… crap.

– Matthew Brosche

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