Waiting.
There is an inexplicable sense of desolation in my room. Couple that with the very much overlooked lack of ventilation and you have possibly the least comfortable place to be in my house. Here I sit, at my desk. Clicking. Refreshing a page here and there. Pulling up one song, listening to pass the time, only to end up in complete silence once again due to the fact that I’ve failed to build up my playlist. Refresh, stare, repeat. An endless mechanical loop I’ve seemingly perfected over the months; performed nearly every day, or at least on days when I’m not forcibly dragged or lured out of the house in my never ending fulfillment of material goods.
Three new Facebook notifications? They can wait.
Nine unread e-mails from the SSIP Yahoo Group? I can stalk them later.
Another featured article on Wikipedia? Already read it over a year ago.
Here, I sit, lonely and desolate; waiting for something to allow my mind to drift away before I retire for the night; putting off anything else that could possibly get in the way. Anything really: from the muttering complaints of my sister, to musical endeavors, even to my own urination schedule; each and every possible interruption I try to hold off for the night, fearing that I might be a nuisance for snubbing that much anticipated moment, or that I could miss it altogether. All the more, awaiting that small window, magically floating up through the emptiness of my browser page. Waiting in hope, known from experience to completely lift my spirits for the rest of the night. Each night, every night.
Now, I wait. a blank stare on my face, the soft glow of the screen illuminating my indifferent expression, clearly hiding the deep feelings inside. I write; somehow, I just want you to know.
What am I waiting for, really?
Don’t flatter yourself; I’ve been waiting for you.
//cue ‘Moonlight Sonata’ and cut to an undersaturated shot of me looking intense into the camera, then slowly fade to black. Roll credits.
