Goldfish

Strange Winter

"My only wish is to see you again, just one last time, even just for a minute, to say hi and  how much we all miss you here."

—

Why am I here today? Literature class was cancelled today, and I'm still stuck here at the university library researching on people in Literature for my four thousand word essay. Ugh, dreadful that I may be stuck here even longer because of an 'unpredicted' snow storm that I neglected to check my phone for, or even on my way out of my apartment earlier. You would think that after having spent almost half the day inside, I would be smart enough to at least check. It had been a rough winter season and it's only mid November. Geez, it's like Canada, except not.

"Okay, focus."

I was already bored out of jumping out of my own mind doing this paper. I had been procrastinating for days on something worth fifteen percent of my grade, due tonight. Either way, I couldn't stop staring out the window, gazing at the snow blown away with the heavy wind. My earphones are set in and the feel of the pen tapping against the sofa arm seat is the most fun I've had all day, besides re-binging episodes of Archer on Netflix.

I am a writer, I like Literature, and I'm really good at it. It was the easiest thing for me really, just hadn't felt like myself in a few weeks to indulge in it. Probably it was the season, or maybe just some issues I had to sort out to move further. I was even too lazy to figure that part out myself. Again, finishing a series on Netflix felt quicker a salvation than sorting my larger stones out and I had more than enough 'New Releases' to choose from ticked into my list.

I was stalling. At least it was warm inside here. My roommate hated 'too much' warmth—a far gone weirdo. She always complained that I turned the heater too high and it gave her headaches. Again, weird. If I had to find two words in a game of Pictionary to describe who she was I'd say 'stepford wife', but without the ring. Always dressed as the quintessential preppy; like Clueless the movie but more twenty-nineteen. I mean I loved that movie, hell I still do, but it's like number two to Pretty Woman. She loved styling her hair in a ponytail, curled with a whip at her back, a dreadful line of A-line plaid skirts and a horrendous number of polos she hung in her remodeled closet. Seemed like we were moving in forever the way she made changes to everything. I mean, yeah it's a bit weird that I know that last detail but hey.

Types 'writers in literature' in the search bar. This student wifi is amazing. At least something is good here.

Cornflakes? What the—

Why the hell is this the first result in Bing search? It's beyond me. "Shit, you're doing it again Frankie." Why is it so hard to write a goddamn paper?

"Okay," cracks knuckles, "Let's begin." Staring at a blank word document feels depressing enough, but realizing again that it was due in a few hours—horrid. I'm even offended that I can't write a measly sentence. Why couldn't the term paper just write itself, why couldn't my term paper write me?

Ouu! It was lovely out here, looking from the inside where its was warm in an almost empty room because everyone else was smart enough to watch the news and subscribe to weather updates. Yeesh. I was ignoring a blinking cursor on my laptop screen on my lap because I was busier watching the beautiful chaos going on out there. I loved seeing how everything other than my life go to shit, it was...calming, reminded me that I wasn't the only one or thing going through it. A pumpkin spice latte would've done me well right about now.