As is customary for me, I am sitting in class ridiculously early. I was paranoid that I would be late, not expecting the unreliable printer in my dining hall to work. I have a ten page essay due when I'm done typing this dissertation, and I needed to print it. Long story short, it's time for another addition of Downtime! For those of you who remember my first Downtime post at about this time last year, you know these can get very random and ridiculously off topic. So hold on. I haven't thought this out in the slightest and I don't know what's going to happen.
This morning I contemplated writing something called "Heavy Eyelids." The idea isn't formed enough for a full post, but I'll give you the cliff notes here. I don't know which one I despise more: waking up or being awake. Don't get me wrong, I don't hate life, but being awake just isn't a good thing to me. Once I've been awake for longer than an hour, I don't believe that to be awake anymore, I consider that living your day. But for the first hour you are awake, you are fully aware you are awake. So you do this and you resist it as much as possible until you realize that awake is just a thing. You can stop it. You can fall back into the sweet solace of sleepiness. S your heavy eyelids take over. Heavy eyelids are different than eyelids. Eyelids shield you from the sun and prevent your eyes from falling out of your head. (That is pure conjecture. I'm not a science person. That may be completely untrue. Full disclosure. I would've looked it up, but I'm on a tight deadline. I've already used eight of my minutes. This parenthetical is taking too long. Back to the point.) Heavy eyelids come from the land of the Lotus Eaters and want to transport you back to a place where you forget about all of your earthly troubles and encumberments. (That totally isn't a word. Whatever.) They want to make you forget your love and hates, your likes and dislikes, your memories and aspirations. Heavy eyelids are Satan incarnate. (I just got followed on Twitter by some guy I've never heard of. But he has 30,000 followers. He must be important.) Heavy eyelids are pure evil. And I fall victim to them every morning.
Well, that took a dark turn. Let's lighten up. Shall we? Do you have a choice? You could stop reading, but that would be stupid, wouldn't it? Are these questions rhetorical anymore? NO! I actually want you answering these questions out loud. If you don't, I will find you. And you will regret it. I have a particular set of skills. None of which share a cross-section with Liam Neeson's particular set of skills, but still. If you are intimidated by people with way too much baseball knowledge, an obsession with sitcoms, and an ass three times bigger than average, prepare to be hunted. Imma get you. Imma get you good. Because you don't answer my questions. Are you even taking me seriously? I know I'm behind a keyboard right now, but I see you. I will jump through your computer screen and jab my right elbow into your larynx until you say "I'm sorry I didn't follow your directions, Sir. It won't happen again." (That was specific.) So heed my warning, lest you end up like William Archibald Fitzgerald IV, the last man who crossed me. We dueled in the grassy knoll just three kilometers outside of Braughingstochkinslandvilletown. And I don't need to tell you who won that battle that day, because I think you know. I bet you haven't heard of William Archibald Fitzgerald V, have you? No, because the family like ended there. It also started there, as I have fabricated this entire story in a thinly veiled attempt to impress you, which is obviously working. For a second there, you were like "Whoa. Did Nick actually duel Big Willie Fitz?" (I assume that would be his nickname. Mine would be Big-Ass. Am I making too many ass jokes this post. I am overcompensating because I haven't been making that many recently? ARE YOU ANSWERING THESE QUESTIONS ALOUD?) But then I told you the truth and you were all like, "Dude, that Big-Ass wouldn't hurt a fly. He never dueled Big Willie Fitz. I bet that person don't even exist." Well if you thought that, two things. First, I am a mind-reader. Second, with that grammar, who are you, Stephen? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Cause he don't none GrammEr goodly. He's an ignint ijut. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. University of Florida education. That guys gonna be a doctor? No thanks! (That's from Glice with Justin Beiber and Taran Killam. I'd link to it, but I've already searched it like 15 times and I don't want my computer to judge me.
My time is up. Actually, I've gone over. Shoot me. Or duel me. Whatever you prefer. New posts coming soon, mostly ones about TV. Maybe another Football Calculus, who knows? Ciao.