Shiny Tin Roof

White bricks crumble noiselessly beneath us.
Only strong foundations fall upwards.
We blindly climb
Towards a shiny tin roof.

Or something like that – its day seven and I was craving to get some poetry out. A puny stanza beats blogging all over beach balls. The boredom is infiltrating and we’ve essentially climaxed to insanity. We roll on the ground like zoo animals weakened from laughter, and sweat out fast food. I can string together a run on sentence composed entirely from Last Student Standing Slang terminology and inside jokes. It is on the verge of pathetic, yet I can’t say I’ve ever laughed as much. I don’t think I could ever be bored again after this. We get high on some type of placebo effect – like every small cubic foot of cement is a shot of tequila. We are bathing in childhood thoughts as we rack our brains for forms of entertainment from what seems a past life. This is melodrama, I realize, but still, not terribly off.

We have spent almost 168 hours consecutively together and I probably know more about my new roommates than I do about myself. We had all been debating whether or not this was a life-altering experience. And I have to say, my conclusion is yes.

Tomorrow I inject my medicine. Everyone wants to watch. It’s funny to me because my mother used to have to chase me around the house screaming to get me to go to the doctors because I was afraid I might have to get a shot. And now I administer myself – I guess if you find a cause that means enough to you, you can surpass that mental block.

I guess for now I will pose as a catalyst for some type of battle of projectiles (including, but not limited to pillows, beach balls, bean bags and apparently now air mattresses).

The plot is always thickening.