Weakened and Battered

For the past couple of days I've been over my head, cramming every single possible word that exists. I've been occupied with studying for exams such as; philosophy, French renaissance and logic (big whoop!). If that wasn't enough, I had to start writing an English essay on two poems, which was two three days from when I started. For about thirty minutes I had debated the poems in which I would decipher. I mean, how hard can that be? Right? Oh God, the pain! I chose a 10 line poem called "To Lindsay," written by Allen Ginsberg. It was riveting and compressed the inner soul. The poem focused on the speaker's grief, and slowly made its way to the suspenseful suicide, dropping the shadow to the floor. Riveting I say because I can. The clock ticking louder and faster as I typed, compressing my ideas unaware of the time. Tick tock, tick tock, my ideas bursting in mid-air. Day becomes night, the warm air turns cold and now my eyes begin to close. I worked endlessly. Alright, so I took a couple of breaks, big deal. It came to a point where I couldn't differentiate between the meaning of the "harsh" and "soft" sounds. What the fucks up with that?!
For about an hour I put it away, hoping to never see it again, but who am I kidding? The essay was worth 20%, it wasn't some freelance work or something. It was an addicting, eating my guts, pulling me and forcing me to give in. I couldn't bear to look away and do something else, knowing that it wasn't done or even close of being worthy. I sat down, looked at the screen. Document opened for the second time filled with words, hundreds, maybe thousands. Who knows? Who cares? I was determined to finish it. Fist pumped. Actually both of them were. I was eager to start typing, aggressive to the point that my fingers would start to hurt. However, all I was doing was type "Finish this Shit" several times. My eyelids slowly began to shut. NO! I had to stay awake. "Get." "WATER." "NOW!!" Too late. Before I could move my fragile legs, I fell on my side, eyes close and fast asleep. I had awaken two hours later.

Must.
Keep.
Writing.
Do.
Not.
Lose.
Focus.

sincerely, Claudio.

Fingers and mind went back to work. Two hours later, one poem was done. Damn Right! Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, I had realized that I had to decipher another poem. "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!" My brain felt drained and useless from thinking too much. How can that be possible? But it is, it is. Even word seemed the same. Every meaning felt awkward. Every line seemed to be the same -word for word- as the previous line. I had too sleep, I just had too.

Go To Sleep. Yeah, at 6pm. Sounds reasonable.