Ennui

Below the thunders of the upper deep,
Far far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth
...
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by men and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die. (a ding metaphor?)
The Kraken, Lord Alfred Tennyson

With the application festivities winding down, I have been able to focus on my life's true calling - vegetating and drinking. For instance, take the last weekend. I work from home on Fridays - mostly on my googling skills. By Saturday I feel I would grow roots into my arm-chair. I plan a radical overhaul of my schedule. I walk across the room and settle on the couch for the rest of the weekend! I am screening calls. Right now I hate all my friends for no apparent reason - in fact I realize that I hate all of humanity. So I decide to go see the whales in Monterey. I always had this picture of me, the whales, the gulls and the surf. But I end up with a boatful of noisy kids. I want to feed them to the orcas.

In a sea of yellow veldt grass I walk, wobbly, fourteen and naked. Solemn oboists in deathly black stare right through me. I wander into woodwind players, all long-lost friends. In the tall swaying grass I see the first violins. I walk disoriented among string players - violists their faces set in concentration and bassists their flaxen hair flying - all oblivious of me. All except a wild-eyed cellist who will never smile. I strain to listen. My little heart races and panics. I sense every note, I feel the ominous minor key, but the music, the music I cannot hear. All that Stradivari and not a whisper. Suddenly in a series of pained arpeggios, I hear the master sigh in the finale of the 40th. Happy birthday Wolfgang!

I woke up with a start to see a pair of green eyes glaring at me. Percy (Persephone) hates visitors, but no more than I hate cats. In a mist of alcohol breath, she and I stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Then Her Feline Grace ambled over to Abigail, nestled in the crook of her arm, closed her eyes and shut me out. I love cats.

Groggy, I woke up to unfamiliar surroundings. I was lying on the floor in Abby's living room. Crumpled on their couch, she and her boyfriend looked like entangled contortionists who were too tired to free themselves from an awkward stunt. It was still dark outside, there was a ouija board on the floor, burnt incense in the air and an open window. More bodies were strewn around.

How exactly I got there still remains a mystery. There is a vague memory of a drinking game, but beyond that everything is a haze. Yes, I am ready for school. All I need is an admit.