I’m sitting here trying to think of what I can write, but all I can think about right now is how hungry I am.
Ladies and gentleman, I am hungry. It is a sad, tragic fact that exists today currently in a state of persistence and yet I am unable to do anything about it because I am sitting here, glued to my seat trying to get stuff done before I head into university to get even more stuff done than I had previously gotten done.
I am stuck here, unable to get up until the stuff that needs doing is done. Therefore, I am stuck here trying to do things whilst my hunger grows and consumes my very being, driving me more and more toward food whilst I am trying to not think about food.
You may suggest that I get off the seat and go and make myself breakfast, to which I ask: Have you tried getting off a chair and making breakfast? Have you had to deal with the terrors that lie between you and the kitchen, such as the door that needs opening and the table that needs to be navigated because you are unable to walk through it due to its corporeal nature?
These are just two of the many, vast obstacles that I would have to deal with in order to go and get myself food before I finish what I am trying to finish, and these are also the most dangerous of all that I would have to deal with.
The only way I can slay them is through the subtle art of doing other things until I see their completion and am satisfied with the result, of course.
Besides which, one can only get off this chair once it senses that something has been completed as it is that kind of chair.
There are too many obstacles separating my own being and the kitchen. Far too many.
How does one open a door anyway? It’s not like it has some sort of mechanism that allows you to turn something which then in turn makes a bar (or other object that can be considered some form of “lock”) retreat into a space that it can fit into which then allows the door to be opened.
These things are really difficult to deal with and sometimes they don’t even budge. I may need to kick the door down later for someone had shut it for some reason and I have no explanation as to why. It seems like a devious, evil act to commit to someone, for now I am trapped within the very confines of my bedroom until I manage to get stuff done in a timely manner.
Oh, what a horrible fate. Oh, if only I could get off this chair, open my door, and then navigate around a table in order to get into the kitchen so I can make myself something to eat in order to satiate my growing hunger.
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 07:21:94
And here we have a dramatic telling of being hungry.
I like this one. Not fantastic, but I do like it and how it flows.
Written at home.