google calendar is trying to kill me

oh god

stress fractures on my brain I've been running at a sprint for weeks. I would kill for a week in a room with nothing to do, I don't mean kill I mean eviscerate, rend and tear; but I think if given the opportunity, the pale mannequin in front of me I'd pass on it out of sheer exhaustion.

I have a lot of obligations. Tasks and responsibilities. Last week I had a day of 13 straight hours of obligation, class to work to club to radio back to back with no breaks.

I’m beginning to get fed up with how well I'm handling it. It's really quite obnoxious to keep going in light of how much I have going on. Even as I write this I'm inordinately pissed off by how I have the energy to type out these words after walking out of a halfway complete lecture, eyes drooping like solar flared planes. Just yesterday I sat in front of my computer calmly telling myself that it was okay that I had nothing to put down for my next essay, even my good ideas felt ungrateful when they stared back at me from the paper knowing i wasn't giving them my full attention.

I set a timer for 10 minutes, pause the music and attempt a nap lying on my dorm floor as if that'll tide me over.

I haven't even taken my glasses off as my eyes loll closed, rings still on finger watch still on. I try to slumber, finding whatever small confort in the tightening noose of the timer.

I need time to rest, relax, think, write and yet despite it here I am doing it here I am writing it's obnoxious I hate it I can’t stand it.

I've been typing steadily since I set the alarm. adding onto this piece that doesn't want to exist but must because everytime my eyes close my brain writes the next line; now my alarm is ringing and the next 3 hour chunk of my day is devoted to ART 111. For 3 hours I will stand upright and draw a gourd as if my grade depends on it (because it does) now my alarm is ringing and I haven't slept a wink.

Now my alarm is ringing and I realize I’ve been doing far too much for far too long.

One day later feels like weeks, more of the same, more of the different. I storm out of every conversation with a quiet limp. I want to tell them I’m tired, that my google calender looks like the maw of hell but I've already told them and they say yeah me too. I'm sure they'd understand if they were me but they're not. Ten thousand crickets ring my head like a halo and let out a dull mechanical thrum. I know it's industrial in nature but right now it just sounds like divine retribution against me. Even now I write in the small spaces between the large ones, the ones with tasks and appearences to be amde. I'm walking as I type my phone shaking with ferocity perhaps at the fingers raining on it's chest but perhaps at me, urging me that I am already enough and that just because I can do it all and trust me I can doesn't mean I have to. I send a paragraph to a possible future roommate about living off campus in the 12 or so breaths since i paused this and now im back. My ear still feels warm from the compression of the phone against it as I talked to my brother. The back of my ankles yelp when I step the wrong way, even Achilles would heel at all this fuzz.

I wonder more about whether wondering about it is worth it then I actually wonder about it. I am no ones martyr, no one can hear you scream in your own brain, elbow to mouth dry throated screams walking out of the building. You know it's bad because you never do it unless its bad. It's bad isn't it? The essay is proof of it, the incessant tick in your knuckles the thrum of your lower calf the involuntary flex of the muscle is it killing you or is it saving you?

I signed up to make two pages in a zine why the fuck did I do that. I submitted a page in a cursory way and felt mad when he said it was amazing because i know it's far from my best work. It's gnawing my neck and it's breathing in my ear and it's name

I need to live off campus. Need. It's no fault of my roommate but I find it devastatingly hard to discombobulate and dissappear into a mush of manga and ambient music when there's someone typing away at the other end of the room. I feel an intruder on what should be my own space. I need a kitchen to cook in, to dance in to

Friday night. Done. I’m taking the weekend off. I’m tired of people and of work and of most everything. Even my essay feels bastardized. I only just now realized I’ve been putting an essay out every Friday and it’s amusing because that was not at all planned. Funny how things work out. The day is as long as the hour is, as long as the minute, but eventually it ends. Make the most of it. Don’t make too much of it though. God what a fucking week. What a week.

---

i have opinions about bagels. lots of opinions about bagels. doubly because i’m from new york and quadruply because i’m Jewish. the zionists need to realize the promised land isn't Palestine but a really good bagel

here are some bagels I’ve had in the past week

i partook of this bagel on tuesday, in the middle of the art class I mention in the essay. It was from sunday but I didn’t eat it sunday so it sat in my fridge. despite that it still went down the hatch easy as ever

this one was eaten before my art class on Thursday perched on a ledge, it gave me the fuel I needed for 3 hours of peppers and contours

oh and here’s last nights aurora
no footnotes,

goodnight and good riddance¹
nadav

1. to the essay not to you,