Procrastination

Procrastination makes watching t.v. easy. I should be writing, improving my skill, but When the idiot-box shoves Rick and Morty into my face I can’t look away. I’m held captive by the possible ways vulgarity is expressed—artfully of course.

All of the bunks here are uncomfortable. I sleep in an uncomfortable bunk. There’s no right way to write. What I’m saying is I’m 28 with back problems. I hunch and scribble, sometimes sketch, how freedom feels, reminding myself It may not be the way I remember it. I was 17 years old before I started doing time. I think differently now, than when I was young and freedom was to me what water is to fish, now, freedom is to me what water is to the fish suffocating in oxygen—its all I can think about. So, I’m running from my notebooks. They want only what my mind palms. But, writing about things as honest as dates hangs heavy on my spirit. I can hardly contain my heaving chest as I snake my head slowly around the corner, afraid truth is coming. I see it. It is a grotesque thing, a soiled mattress slinking up the dark corridor, donning a 15 inc t.v., looping a 2 second clip of my favorite Rick and Morty episode ( the one about Schrodinger’s cat) while wearing my out-date across a jersey soaked in fish oil. It sees me. I attempt retreat before I’m seen. I failed . It comes around the corner too fast to react . Shocked I fall like the clumsy characters I scream at in horror films. It grabs aggressively my shirt collar and tries to shove a note book in my my mouth. It is chanting, ” you must write. You must write.” I cant breathe. My throat is clogged with fish oil. I cough and manage some air into my lungs. I cough again and I am awake, in my room. I’m a little confused as I catch my breath. Rick and Morty is on the t.v. (my favorite episode),a half eaten bowl of tuna and chips and my notebook open to blank pages.

BY  Darrion Benson    M16943