THE MOCKING BOOKS

The books are stacked haphazardly in the corner of my apartment. They are not in any particular formation. Simply piled, one upon another, facing all sorts of directions. The support each other with their hard covers and bindings. Each filled with hundreds of thousands of words, so heavy, so thick. They are like building blocks, creating a structure that exists for no purpose.

Those books mock me.

"Why aren't you reading us?"

"Why don't you ever open us?"

"How will you ever get yor doctorate?"

I try to ignore them. "I'm just taking a break," I tell myself, "I go back soon, maybe next semester. It was hard being in school, I struggled to stay afloat in my studies. It is a strenuous, academic atmosphere there. I just needed a break. And it's totally normal. So many people take time off. I'll go back, I will, no matter what anyone says."

"Sure, you will," they say back, sarcasm in their voices. "Everyone thinks they will go back..."

"I WILL!" I yell. I have had enough of this. These stacks of papers and words bound together. I pick them all up and carry them outside. I throw them in the dumpster with all of my might. I stomp back upstairs to my thrid floor aparment. I slump down on the couch and think, "What is wrong with me?"