I'll stop the World and melt with you

I am sick of the old route. I am sick of always following a daily plan that does not matter to anyone anymore. I am sick of always being the least I can be. Sick of being left to ponder what if? What could have been? Where would I have ended up?

It is the sickness that destroys my desire to fight on. A cause that perpetuates itself each and everyday. And yet, at the first glimpse of dusk, I have no idea what the cause is anymore.

Today, like any other day represented a dull, moody monday that had absoutely no perks at all. If anything I already miss the life I used to have.

Holidays, I keep reiterating to everyone I meet, are something I have grown to desire and have yearned for in the past few weeks. I have planned out exactly what I intend to do in June, or perhaps even in December. Yet, time passes as though it is stuck in an unpenetrable vacuum.

However for the sake of discussion, indulge my next few paragraphs.

When the holidays arrive, I should like to wake up early on most days. Breakfast at a favourite cafe represents freshness to a lifestyle of mundane studying. Perhaps tuition days might pose a potential stumbling block to early mornings. Yet, the majority of my days will be spent with a caffeinated drink in hand, my laptop enticing my other hand, and perhaps a close friend across the table ranting about his lovelife and the fences that have engulfed it.

My afternoons will be spent rather lazily. Whenever time poses a threat to my enjoyment, I will not hesitate to dial a familiar number. Bridge will be the order of the afternoon, most afternoons at least. We shall slouch ourselves in white-cushioned sofa-seats, chat about the idleness of our current situation and discuss in great detail, the possibility of wasting more time with more meaningless enjoyment. Perhaps for the greater good, a movie might present itself as a great way to end off the sun's presence. And perhaps at this point, we enter the night.

Dinner.
Descriptions need not be extensive. Dinner has always been just dinner. Nothing defines the final meal of the day, neither does it need any extra indulgences. Dinner will be dinner. And this shall be the rhetoric you will find me adopting. Post-dinner, however, will present a different story entirely. Music makes me passionate about the finale to my awakening hours. I should like to finally visit an ambient, quiet place that offers me the greatest relief to a sore day of absolutely no work. Sipping an equally quiet glass of whatever-the-hell-I-feel-like, I will gaze longingly at the brilliant instruments conscripted to action. After hours spent counting the total tabulature, my hands shall clapse when the music stops. As much as my mother would love for it to, the night will not follow suit.

Le Fin.
A walk.
To refresh my thoughts. To remind me of the paradox between this holiday World and the next. The anxieties, the worries and the burden of caring for unrelated topics will not subjugate me. No, for I will be walking. And thinking, of course. And my hands shall reach for those familiar white strings of attachment. And my ears shall engage themselves in combat with the environment that is now ghastly quiet, and the soft, sombre strings of Nouvelle Vague. Perhaps I might fancy Azure Ray. Who knows? I shall have the luxury to choose between both. With only the faintest of drum beats making the faintest muffled, distanced bobs of sound.

When my legs can go no further, I hail the green lighted saint of transport. Closing my eyes and gripping firmly onto the soft, delicate feeling of slumber, I will utter a command. Following a journey of intense struggling with the demons of soberness, I will rest my head on my Kingly throne of pillows. And when my head rests, I shall be amazed at the prospect of reliving the schedule at the very next instance.

Bring it on.
I fancy the new route better.