Deadbeat

The air was icy when the sun had shone. Too soon, I thought. I had barely gotten anything productive out of the long post-midnight solitude, frozen on the chair where I sat for hours, staring at the computer screen entertaining myself with two, three-minute clips of material I had already seen before, all while waiting for something minutely interesting to happen. Perhaps I had been soaked here for too long in this abyss that now it kind of becomes second nature. Long have I been alone and long have I been thirsty. The sun is up, meaning it is high time for me to choke the chicken before heading to sleep. I wonder whether to be sad or be happy for the mundanity of it all, but either way time waits for no one, including me, and I must away. As I lie on the bed wondering what to do, I feel a pang of anxiety slowly growing from behind my neck, slowly gaining awareness, and I start to wonder if it is exactly what I think it is.