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there is something i particularly like
May. 9th, 2010 11:12 amabout the atmosphere of this, of the fluorescent lighting, the rows upon rows of computers, the room completely empty except me, my laptop, and the click-click-clicking of fingers tapping away on a keyboard
When my brother was still very sick, one day he came wheeled into the dining room on my dad's wheelchair, and I remember fidgeting because I didn't know how to react, didn't know to deal with somebody that sick. But I guess he was lucid that day, and he turned to me with jaundiced yellow eyes (I jumped, a little) and ground out (painfully, word by word), "How's... school?"
I don't even remember what I said. Some boring things. But I remember he said, "I like it. The whole programming thing. Working late into the night... you know."
Maybe those weren't his exact words. All my memories are muddled into one large overall impression that I can't quite put my finger on. But I think about that a lot, at random times when I don't even realize it. Just idly, the thought crosses my mind...
There's some twisted part of me that can take immense enjoyment from things like this. Working alone late in to the night. Having a whole empty (massive) room to myself, my music, and nothing else. It's like how I can go into a coffeeshop and sit at one of those single-person round tables and work for hours, with nothing but a cup of coffee beside me. I like the window seats, but even not at a window seat, if I get tired of working I just sit back and watch the people, so many people, coming and going out of this tiny place, with its warm, comforting smell of coffee, buzz of chatter, and bits of half-jazz music playing in the background. It's like how I used to love waking up at 6 (back when I could wake up at 6), and get up by myself, cook myself some breakfast while it's still pitch black outside, then curl up in my pajamas at the dining table with a good book (but not reading for the sake of the book), my breakfast, and a nice hot cup of something, as the sky lightened up outside and around me... I used to get so annoyed if my mom woke up early too, and poked her head out to ask me something or try to cook for me. There's something about the silence of morning I like to enjoy in solitude.
When my brother was still very sick, one day he came wheeled into the dining room on my dad's wheelchair, and I remember fidgeting because I didn't know how to react, didn't know to deal with somebody that sick. But I guess he was lucid that day, and he turned to me with jaundiced yellow eyes (I jumped, a little) and ground out (painfully, word by word), "How's... school?"
I don't even remember what I said. Some boring things. But I remember he said, "I like it. The whole programming thing. Working late into the night... you know."
Maybe those weren't his exact words. All my memories are muddled into one large overall impression that I can't quite put my finger on. But I think about that a lot, at random times when I don't even realize it. Just idly, the thought crosses my mind...
There's some twisted part of me that can take immense enjoyment from things like this. Working alone late in to the night. Having a whole empty (massive) room to myself, my music, and nothing else. It's like how I can go into a coffeeshop and sit at one of those single-person round tables and work for hours, with nothing but a cup of coffee beside me. I like the window seats, but even not at a window seat, if I get tired of working I just sit back and watch the people, so many people, coming and going out of this tiny place, with its warm, comforting smell of coffee, buzz of chatter, and bits of half-jazz music playing in the background. It's like how I used to love waking up at 6 (back when I could wake up at 6), and get up by myself, cook myself some breakfast while it's still pitch black outside, then curl up in my pajamas at the dining table with a good book (but not reading for the sake of the book), my breakfast, and a nice hot cup of something, as the sky lightened up outside and around me... I used to get so annoyed if my mom woke up early too, and poked her head out to ask me something or try to cook for me. There's something about the silence of morning I like to enjoy in solitude.
