Well I'm sorry, Mr. Logsdon— I was about
to write the most fantastic satire anyone has ever read, but just as I started
to type, I realized that I had forgotten to do my math homework.
At that point I immediately leapt
from my bed and flew to my backpack. Oh, the call of the integrals sucked me in
like siren song; how I longed to throw my life to those squiggly symbols and
retreat from the real problems of the world! I frantically groped for my
pencil, which I found slavering over the impending calculations. I slammed my
packet onto my desk and began to manipulate the entrancing letters and numbers
into more of the oh-so-beautiful same! Pure achievement gushes from every
brain-bursting exercise as I add my name to the eternal Book of Life, joining millions of
Calculus students who have solved the very same issue billions of times! The impassioned strokes of my pencil create ART ITSELF!
Upon
completion of my assignment, I sit back in my chair, breathing heavily. The
progress I had made in the world. What I had realized about myself. How productive
I had been. All of this filled me with blissful awe even as I drifted back into my
depressingly pragmatic, hopelessly realistic, and crushingly purposeful world.
My phone buzzed— that was my friend wanting to hang out. My mom called up
the stairs and said she needed help moving a box. I looked over and saw my
Bible lying quietly on the shelf. Ugh, what a waste of time it all seemed in comparison. My fanatical devotion cruelly terminated by invasive, presumptuous distractions, I set about the dull process of living my life.
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