The Excess Road by Joshua Jones
Chapter Thirty-seven: Mirror
I woke up sweating.
My blankets were soaked and smelled of booze. My tooth bled and my pillow was blotted with human stain. I got up and walked a few steps and fell to floor to cool off.
The ceiling spun.
I wasn’t worth getting up. Why bother? My back ached and began to itch. I had to get up.
If I pulled off average grades at least I could come back the next year. The overload of unfinished work piled up on the desk. I focused only on the assignments that would put me over the failure point: term papers, exams and attendance were the objectives I faced. I didn’t care if I was unprepared I was not going to miss another class no matter what.
The days were getting longer and daylight was almost encouraging until I was summoned to the Assistant Dean of Students office. Behind a wall of papers sat a spindle of a man twirling a pen.
He pointed to a leather backed chair and I hid my face as I sat. Rocking back and forth, I listened to a speech on time management. It was but a scratch of sound. It ended with a comment on self-determination. As I stood in the door to leave he wished me well.
“I will improve. There are no excuses. I am sorry,” I said.
He took the token illusion.
I woke up sweating.
My blankets were soaked and smelled of booze. My tooth bled and my pillow was blotted with human stain. I got up and walked a few steps and fell to floor to cool off.
The ceiling spun.
I wasn’t worth getting up. Why bother? My back ached and began to itch. I had to get up.
If I pulled off average grades at least I could come back the next year. The overload of unfinished work piled up on the desk. I focused only on the assignments that would put me over the failure point: term papers, exams and attendance were the objectives I faced. I didn’t care if I was unprepared I was not going to miss another class no matter what.
The days were getting longer and daylight was almost encouraging until I was summoned to the Assistant Dean of Students office. Behind a wall of papers sat a spindle of a man twirling a pen.
He pointed to a leather backed chair and I hid my face as I sat. Rocking back and forth, I listened to a speech on time management. It was but a scratch of sound. It ended with a comment on self-determination. As I stood in the door to leave he wished me well.
“I will improve. There are no excuses. I am sorry,” I said.
He took the token illusion.