an average day in the life of a grad student

photo from Unsplash.

the manic mediocrity of the everyday hustle and bustle threatens to consume

this is not what i sold my soul for

days hunched over a keyboard and eleven stubbed out cigarettes in the same bowl i use to microwave eggs

every keystroke demanding more of my resolve

as i struggle to meet a self-imposed deadline

i am the Annie Wilkes in my own mind, might i hobble myself if i don’t turn this in on time?

this is the part where i panhandle on the corner of all of the songs i’ve ever heard

stealing, borrowing a line because quoting a band that once-was a remnant of my lover is more obscure than passing off an old dead writer’s words as my own

there is no copyright on shakespeare: i could rip off all of hamlet like he did in the first place —

a story for another day but i’m still a little angry over Marlowe not getting credit

the fatigue of creation sets in

is this how God felt on the seventh day?

emotionally bankrupt, but unlike Eve, i cannot reinvent myself by stealing the meat of another man’s ribs