the first week of the rest of my life.

the end is so close it's practically knocking on my door. i gaze around the room, my room, and realise that in a week or so my life will be in packed up and sealed in little cardboard boxes, a thought that is simultaneously exhilarating and fearsome. the pictures, the posters, the miscellaneous junk that adorns my shelves and walls will be stripped away. my laundry basket, piled high with clothes and other assorted washable materials, will once again fall into disuse; never again will i need to fear a lack of clean, laundry fresh clothes. the maid will ensure it. rare will be the day i will have to concern myself with groceries, or cooking, or the like.

in a week, i will (God-willing) have a job, a new room, a brand new life. time they say, is the great equaliser. never before have i felt the absolutely truth behind that statement so acutely. i am at once equal parts pain and sorrow, on one hand, and utterly unfettered joy on the other. this is, after all, simply the end of the beginning.

flowers on my window.

i woke up this morning with the realisation that in a month, my life will be radically different from that to which i have grown accustomed. it's not a negative thought, just a scary one. i lay in bed for a little while and contemplated the fact that no matter how hard i try, there is no escape from the inevitable, inescapable need to grow up. and then josh pounded on my door and told me to wake up and go to the library, so i guess we now return to normal programming. bah.



shot and photoshopped by su. respect.

politewinter.

you never truly see a city for what it is until just after midnight, when the faintest hint of moonlight tinges the treeline with burnished silver, and the buildings themselves seem to whisper ruminations overheard the day past. the wind carries the voices of a dying day, and the weariness drops from your brow for just one brief, fleeting moment, before you lower your eyes and the weight of the world comes crashing back down on your back.

the contemplations of the bored.

i've been living in a cubicle for the last week. the same songs on repeat mode in my ear, all 500 of them on loop mode; constant, inexorable, unchanging. tbe same food, the same surroundings (oh, the unrelenting green-ess of the place). i'm trapped in a prison of my own choosing, spending most days floating in a sea of legal terms. the realisation hits me- the law is a but a set of reified human constructs, no more real or tangible than greek myths or roman gods. it exists because we say it does. we allow books to govern our lives, just because the word statute precedes them.