Finally, it has arrived. This is going to be one of the best summers of my young, rather blissful, life. Everything is falling into place, and the future is glorious as the sun in its daily chore of lighting the path I take. The promise held by everyday means more than a million trucks of gold, more than a vault of endless, cold, hard cash, because everyday is a new day, and tomorrow begins with this summer.
I love pressure. I didn’t realize how much I live and breathe for urgency, for it is when I produce my best work. Others call it procrastination, but my effective management term is increased motivation. The added demand to finish in a particular number of hours drags my brain out of snooze and into a full-pledged sorority of ideas. I liken it to getting high with marijuana, when the best ideas decide to spring out of their rocky hiding places. When my thoughts cannot afford to squeeze in any other item of interest, little rockets of whoops and fireworks start flirting with the skies of my whims [i.e. A paper due in a few hours]. Here I go again, writing a paper and getting bloody thrilled. Why must I be such a nerd. Hello, dear sun and summer rays, come along now. Inch up closer to my present, will you, little fellow? Come on, one requirement at a time.
There are days when people live in the past, dwelling on what-could-have-beens and I-should-haves. I’m a horrible example of one who commits that crime, unintentionally might I add. The “You said <insert offensive, unmeant phrase> that’s why I felt like <insert annoying selfish rant>” and the obligatory response “But you said <recall the fireback> too so that makes you <insert other words for guilty>” will never get old. It will always be in the mind’s little junctures of emergency arguments.
But what of the times when we live in the future? I can think of nothing but the promises of grandeur and extreme excitement curtailing the months ahead. I plan every excursion, down the most minute detail and to the last hour of the weeks. Every excruciating aspect of that vacation, that upcoming stall, those courses to take: They’re all flittering in the realms of my conscious as I attempt (failingly) to tackle the present.
This is my vintage alarm, without a snooze option. I need to look at the now, the deadlines and the reports pertaining to them and forget about what lies ahead, just for a little while. The last two weeks of this semester will not be a breeze, but it should fly as rapidly as one. I swear by the blood of my entire heritage, it will be difficult but swift.
— Bianca
Haunted houses never scared the shit out of me. The entire concept was bizarre. Made-up ghosts and supposedly spooky decors are meant to creep the hell out of the people who chose to subject themselves to forced fear…or mocking laughter. I am mostly part of the latter. The creatures play the part of forgotten, grudging, hurting beings each with issues of its own for staying on earth past their time, thus the haunting. The past haunts the present, and it always will.
I know I always believe that everything comes down to tomorrow, and the past should be a mere fragment of ideas at the back of minds, but that seems rather ironic now. Yesterday’s tomorrow is today, thus what took place yesterday would have come down to today. Whatever happened then would have come down to today so it is and never will be meaningless. Yesterday is haunting me, right now, right here. It will undoubtedly have a say on everything I am about to do tomorrow and the days after that. I am haunted by the choices I made, the actions I took and the ones I didn’t. That’s what life is, I suppose. It’s nothing but a cruel, predictable game of dominoes and the moment the first block makes contact with my shaky finger, the fate has forever been altered and decided on. It’s only a matter or waiting.
