We had to write a poem for class this week. It didn’t have to rhyme, fortunately, ‘cause then it would’ve been impossible. But then I’ve got a lot to do besides. Five hundred words to write by Friday night. I can’t just stay at home and loaf around. This class will kick my butt if I slack off. But stress is just a way to get stuff done.

So yeah, I worked real hard to write that poem. It took me seven hours to finish it. While lesser folks played Modern Warfare 2, I was responsible and worked all night. I heard a knock that evening at one point. My friends were thinking I was probably dead. I was afraid to talk to anyone, because my mind had been monopolized. The poem became my only interest. It was a necessary sacrifice.

Anyway.

I hung out with my roommate yesterday. He asked me if I’d like to play some Brawl. I said, “to brawl or not to brawl, that is the question.” He said “of course it is, what’s wrong with you.” I said “I’m sorry, man, my head feels weird.”

The other day I ate lunch with my friends. They asked me when I’d be available. I said, “I’ll meet you in the caf at ten to six.” (Or was that from an XKCD strip?) And they were like okay, we’ll see you there. But then I got distracted on the way because some words were running through my head. Something about a face and launching ships?

So yeah.

I’ve felt a little strange these last few days. It’s like my brain got hijacked overnight. My friends all say I’m talking funny now. Like with a herky-jerky kind of sound. I tell them that’s just silly, cut it out, but secretly I think I might agree. Sometimes I feel my head bob up and down, and lately I’ve been walking rhythmically. I might have got a little bit obsessed, and now there’s something stuck inside my head. It might be from that homework-riddled night. I think it might have changed the way I talk. Like really, I’m not making this crap up. This might turn out to be a handicap. Like if I wanted to use a few more syllables—It sounds so wrong!

I don’t know what to do. Am I obsessed, or am I going crazy? I wouldn’t be surprised; I’m overworked. I don’t know how I function as it is. My brain can only focus on one thing. And I’ve got to maintain my GPA. That’s how I’ll get to grad school, anyway. And if I failed what would my mother say? So that’s become my top priority.

I realize not everyone’s the same. Not everyone’s as disciplined as me. And if I don’t do all that work, who will? I’m too important to just take a break. I’ve got my pen and paper and some Vault, and I’ve got thirty pages due tonight.

I threw away my Xbox yesterday. I watched it shatter into little bits. Just having it would be a waste of time. My cell phone died, so I laid it to rest. It rang too much from all my worried friends. They should know better than to call me up. They know I’m too distracted as it is.

I worked so hard on that confounded poem. It’s worth it, though; I need to get that “A.” In fact, I think it needs revising now. On second glance, it’s just a piece of crap. I can’t believe I spent so long on that.
So now, if you’ll excuse me, I must work.

My god, what’s with this damned iambic quirk?