So much homework.
So much work work.
Too tired to eat. Too tired to sleep. Too tired to watch TV. Too tired to write long sentences. Only bullet points. My entire life has been reduced to a PowerPoint presentation. A few pictures. Limited text. Standard background template. Slide transitions only. No animations.
No, wait. Not too tired to watch TV. Just no time. No CSI: Las Vegas. No Glee. No Mentalist.
I wish I had Simon Baker’s hair. Good hair. Mature face, mature sensibilities masked by boyish good looks and impish manner. Wish I was an actor. Good job. Three months of work. Nine months of going to red-carpet parties.
Well, hello! I believe that shrimp bowl in the Green Room’s got my name on it. Literally. Yes, it’s got my name on it. The tag says this bowl of extra large shrimp is for Michael Whiteman-Jones because he’s a huge fucking mega-star and he gets a giant bowl of shrimp all to himself. And a bowl of blue M&Ms. And shaved ice for his gin and tonics kissed with a twist of organic lime flown in from Costa Rica. And don’t dare make direct eye contact with him in the hallways unless he makes eye contact with you first. Exception: Charlize Theron. Eye contact permitted. Have all the blue M&Ms and shrimp you want, too, my dear.
Focus, you idiot!
Bear down on the task at hand. Homework. Use the Geographic Information System and your data set to map the effects of global warming on malnutrition in Tanzania.
Where the fuck is Tanzania, anyway?
What’s it next to? Darfur? I remember writing something about the war in Darfur. Maybe it’s Darfur. Not sure. Kenya? The Congo?
The Congo. The Heart of Darkness. Great book. Bit depressing, though.
Stop it, man! Pull yourself together! Think!
“The horror! The horror!”
No, you are not Capt. Marlow! You are not the ivory trader, Kurtz!
You are a college student with a lot of homework to do. You are a relatively new employee of the National Park Service with a lot of work work to do. And you are very tired. Nearing exhaustion. Past exhaustion. You don’t have time to wander around in your imagination. Or wonder. No time for luxuries. Or fun. No time.
Is time travel possible? Maybe. But what about the Butterfly Effect? If I go back in time to buy Microsoft stock and make out with the girl who sat in front of me in English class, will Jeb Bush become president after George Bush instead of Barack Obama and go on to drop the atom bomb on Iceland in a desperate attempt to stop Eyjafjallajokull from fucking up the atmosphere?
I’m afraid now.
Must not allow myself to invent time machine. Too dangerous. Humans have not progressed to the point where my time-travel technology can be used safely. I must not allow the full power of my genius to put all of humankind in jeopardy. Must find alternative outlet for scientific creativity. Must invent calorie-free, deep-fried quadruple chocolate ice cream bars with whipped cream center.
Of course it’s brilliant. That’s why I’m a college student with straight As. First time I’ve had straight As in my entire life. But it’ll be Fs soon if I don’t focus.
Must not allow myself to sleep. To sleep is to dream. Must not have dreams. Must not dream about being Harry. Must not dream about being Harry the writer. Harry on safari in Africa, dying, dreaming of being taken in an airplane to the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro.
No time for sleeping. No rest. I am not Harry!
Must march on! I have things to accomplish.
I have much work to do.
Much work to do.
Work to do.