3AM

Edison couldn't sleep. He thought there was too much to be done, and that he was losing time when he slept. I think Edison was probably insane. I can't sleep because I'm wasting my life. I do nothing, ever, and I stay awake hoping that these last hours will bring meaning to my fleeting day. Well, they don't. In fact, they make it worse the next day. But like a moth, or rather, a fucking idiot moth, I'm invariably drawn to the flame of idiocy.

I'm doomed to drift. I spend hours reading information that will never be relevant. At my fingertips is a library of Babel, and I'm in the section of the library where the books just repeat the same five words over and over, those words being "Never gonna give you up". I spend these nights reading ridiculous amounts of information that I will never use. Strategies on games I'll never play, debates on who was America's greatest asshole, and other lunacies.

I'm reading an article about Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's more intense brother. Sherlock had a brother whose powers of observation dominated Sherlock's. Whenever Sherlock had a case he could absolutely not solve, he'd go to his brother, who called him a dumbass and told him the solution. The only reason Mycroft didn't have his own adventures was because he didn't care. Sherlock complained that his brother was exceedingly lazy, but that's probably because he was a jealous bastard. Imagine if you were the second best in your field, next to someone who sat around all day eating Doritos and masturbating to, well, himself.

While I'm reading about Mycroft, an incessant chirping of birds is harassing my ears. Birds are despicable creatures. They are the harbingers of daylight, which, in turn, is a harbinger of how shitty I'm going to feel in the morning. It's terrible that a sound so pleasing to normal people and birds in heat can be so dreadful to me.

9AM
True to my strict regimen, I awake to the hysterical shriek of my alarm. It's a robotic alarm that walks around when it goes off so I have to get up to hit the snooze button. This clock is land borne; its predecessor was capable of climbing walls and other blasphemies. It met its end when it fell behind the refrigerator, where I had to repeatedly bash it with a broom. It lies there today, an homage to my sloth.

Breakfast consists of a nut bar. A food science major once told me that my metabolism for the day is doubled upon eating something in the first ten minutes of waking up. Someone else told me that my metabolism is increased 50% by eating the hour I wake up. I figure if I eat as soon as I wake up, I can increase my metabolism exponentially.

This is why I sleep with a nut bar.

I live alone in a two bedroom apartment. While it does get lonely sometimes, I make sure to reap the benefits of hermitage, among them, the freedom to not wear pants ever. It's also nice to be able to swap beds on a whim. I'm pretty sure having multiple bedrooms is a luxury that rich people secretly enjoy.
I hadn't taken the time to decorate the place until recently. To alleviate the emptiness, I put up whatever free or cheap posters I can get. I try to make each wall adhere to a category, but so far the only categories I have are "ugly" and "Nicholas Cage".

I exit my asylum to a bright sky. It's this kind of day that reminds me of happier, younger years: elementary school recesses where I'd excavate the gravel-laden playground with smuggled spoons from lunch, creating traps for obese children to trip in and disgruntled janitors to fill.

The bus stop is just across the street. It's marked by a single aluminum bench and two Korean girls.

I can speak Korean.

I've pirated almost every language Rosetta Stone offers, and used pretty much only Korean. I was spurred on by a desire to show off my impressive knowledge of a language to people who would not expect it. Like maybe if I was talking to those two Korean girls and one said in Korean to the other, "This person is weird" and I'd instantly respond "Your face is weird" And then they'd be speechless to my mastery of their language or how awkward the situation just got.

Korean wasn't my first choice though. Initially, I decided on Chinese because they're predicted to be the largest economy by 2040, but then I discovered that whoever invented Chinese hated Chinese people or was just terrible at making writing systems. Or maybe aristocrats decided to make the language needlessly complex so that the poor would have no chance of becoming literate. After giving up Chinese, I moved to Tagalog because it has a funny name. I gave up on Tagalog because I realized that's a stupid reason to learn a language.

Making sure that my next language would hit its mark, I looked up professional opinions and tastiness of cuisine. Korean is considered one of the most beautiful and logical languages. The only "problem" with it is the honorifics. That is to say, there are several levels of formality required when talking to peers, elders, children, ugly children, and the like, more than any other language.

My journey to learning Korean wasn't a complete waste; from these endeavors I learned how to greet and say farewell to people in Chinese and Tagalog, along with other phrases, like "my cat is in a tree" or "I love durian", durian being an Asian fruit proclaimed as the king of all fruits. It deserves its title because it's basically the jaguar of fruits. Every year, people die because it ambushes them from its treetop perch and bops them on the head.

While looking into all these languages, I perused a few that people created for fun, like Esperanto. Esperanto, despite being extremely logical and pleasing, was quickly thrown out because it clearly wouldn't get me into the aforementioned scenario as only language geeks and language geeks' traumatized children would understand it.
Really, about an hour of browsing languages and you'll get more information than you ever want to know.

These girls are talking about some guy they know. As the time at the bus stop seems to drag, I feel compelled to speak to them. I've sunk so many hours into trying to make myself more awesome, I need some actualization. It's like how the majority of weightlifters need to find an outlet where they can be shirtless. They're not being douches, they just want some appreciation.

"I like Korean barbecue", I say in Korean.

A realization hits me. If some foreigner came up to me and said in accented English "I like hamburgers" I'd think "okay, what the fuck".

"I…I like Korean barbecue too", responds the taller of the two.

The other one giggles like a rotund grade schoolgirl with pigtails.
The girls stop talking to each other and we wait for the bus in awkward silence.

When I get on the bus, I hear one of the girls whisper "He's weird".

12PM
Class is over. I pretty much just slept through the entire thing. Despite the hard, unfeeling plastic chairs, the professor's speech is like a lullaby. Her soothing voice synergizes with the rhythm of her speech and her advanced age gives a grandma-esque quality to it all.

The class has hundreds of people so I can comfortably rest without the professor ever knowing my name. The auditorium we are in is more like a coliseum to me, where my malformed thoughts do battle with the Sandman, an insurmountable foe.

The lecture, or at least the amalgamation of lecture and dream I perceived, was about homosexuality. I'm taking a sociology course because it's required.

The course material could be a lot more interesting if written by someone who had no professionalism whatsoever. I could easily spice up this lecture. I would cite that experiment where they found that homophobes are more likely to be closeted homosexuals by hooking up people's penises to a machine and forcing them to watch gay porn.

Who envisioned such a terrible experiment? That's what I'm more interested in. The study wasn't even conclusive. A lot of people in the control group became semi-aroused just from confusion.

Anyway, I've got already got a deep tolerance of homosexuality. I once used the urinal next to an openly gay guy just to show that I was comfortable with his lifestyle.

I mean, if I really wanted to get rid of homosexuality, I should just accept it. If homosexuality is genetic and homosexuals can't reproduce, the only reason that Darwinistic evolution hasn't at least severely decreased the gay population is because society keeps forcing closeted gay people to fuck the opposite sex.

I'm fairly certain if my professor could hear me think she'd have a heart attack from how incorrect my thoughts are.

As I exit the auditorium, I text message my friend Karen.

"lunch Korean BBQ?"

Karen is really the only friend I've made at college. And that's a pretty loose definition at that. She's kind of a friend collector; she friends nearly everyone she meets, even garbage friend. At least that's how I perceive her; I really have no friends, so it probably seems like that to me.

Maybe we're similar; she's got a bevy of friends and really is close to no one, and I've got no friends and am logically also close to no one.

"Sry. Ate alrdy /3. Cum 2 bars 2nite?"

No, I hate going to the bars, Karen. I hate going to them with you even more. You always invite a number of guys equivalent to a high prime number to a dance bar and maybe one other girl. Then the guys stand around awkwardly while you get all the attention you need because we're desperately trying to not stand around awkwardly.

I walk to the restaurant alone. The name of the place in Korean is "Happy Cow" which I'm pretty sure is a bold faced lie. A delicious lie nonetheless.

6PM
I'm bored. It's at the point where I'm starting to become lethargic. I'm so bored that my actions are locked in place. I check the same sites that haven't updated over and over again. It's like I'm pushing a boulder to have it roll back.

9PM
I hate Karen. I've got to find some other awkward friends who don't hang out with anyone to alleviate this boredom.

I text Karen
"bars tonite?"

This is terrible. On one hand, I hate bars. They're so sweaty and drunk and full of people who remind me of why I don't like people. On the other hand I'm drawn to the prospect of finding a likeminded soul, even in such a damnable place.

This is clearly my greatest weakness. It forces me to partake in contemptible and uncomfortable situations.

I heard once that it's all an intricate conspiracy: the De Beers family influences media so that more people will buy their dirty diamonds because of a strong idea that staying single is abnormal and leads to unhappiness. Fucking De Beers family; its meddling has lead to the rise of shitty music, shitty movies, and shitty people in general.

Even going to these bars is just a flurry of false optimism for me. Every time I see someone attractive, they will be most attractive until the moment that they speak. It's not because they'll say anything dumb, it's because until that moment, they can be and are everything I want them to be, and, as soon they say anything, that mystique, those myriad possibilities are demystified. Schrodinger's hot chick.

"cum ovr now. We r pregamin."

Who spells come like that? Fuck you Karen.

This is the crossroads; there are two strategies before me. I can live in a small, lonely world where I am king to myself and my imagined audience, or I can embrace a large, social world where I'm a pawn at best.