September 5, 2010

“…Schleck lost a little time yesterday to…”
The TV commentator drones on and on. I usually enjoy watching the cycling, but this year the Vuelta de Espana isn’t doing anything for me. Maybe I have too much on my mind.

I cycle through the tabs in my browser; gaudy ads pop out at me from the sides of pages, seeking to convince me that I need more friends, a longer penis and to waste my time on ‘the best new online MMORPG’. Needless to say I’m not buying it. I’m too distracted thinking about other things.

I open a fresh page, clicking on the bookmark to my blog. I’m not proud of it; it contains too much bad poetry, not enough humour, and I honestly don’ understand why people read it. But somewhere deep down the desire to be listened to dives me on. I struggle to think of something to write about.

Shifting position on the couch I think that I should probably get some sleep. But even at 1:19 I’m too awake to sleep. I start typing, the sound of my keystrokes tapping out a morbid rhythm.
“When did I become so good at touch-typing?” my brain mutters to its self. “I spend too much time on my laptop. Why is my life so wasted?” I think about things too much.

I continue to type, and eventually I reach the last paragraph. I type words which describe exactly what I’m doing. Casually, I wonder if I type fast enough whether I can predict the future. Cracking my neck I think about what I’ve written: utterly boring, useless drivel. I just have to hope that I’m different enough for other people to find this interesting. I even tried to write something decent. Maybe I have too much on my mind.

The TV commentator continues to spill his mindless story; telling me exactly what is happening right in front of me.
“…one of the other riders that was originally in this group, but has now lost contact…”


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