The Primer

I am drinking root beer. It is 12:05 am. I gaze down at my belly. It is pot.

It is at times like this, where I am awake in the wee hours of the night, all of my homework assignments but partially finished, that I wonder where my priorities lie. I spent all afternoon working on a mediocre charcoal drawing to be posted before untrained eyes, purely for my own satisfaction of a job done, if not done well. Obviously, this attitude does not extend to my school obligations, as I have settled for a job undone on all my assignments. I would rather write this account, and scramble to translate don Quijote, outline 11-1 and study molecular compounds in the moments before they are due. Therefore pure expression is my motivation. Whether in words or brush strokes, it far out ways any urgent and soon forgotten assignment. How funny it is that personal expression, a thing without a time limit, is prioritized in my momentary life as if the due date is fast approaching. All my life's work must be passed in 4th period. There is no time for history notes before then. In a way, every second of every day is in itself a deadline. Trillions of seconds have gone by that have not been recorded on canvas, or scrap wood in my basement. So the books and binders lay gaping on the table, as my paint-stained fingers drum out this first record, and my contacts dry out on my sleepy eyeballs.