I have always had a hard time concentrating solely on something for a long time. After a while my mind starts to wander to the silliest of the things. I believe it is a natural human tendency, not a peculiar flaw in me, but what amazes me is the musings that keep me engaged (or distracted) when I should be concentrating on something. In a class which did not interest me much in school, I could think of random things.
I once remember staring constantly at the blackboard for a long time in hopes of getting interested in the words etched on it. I hadn't realised when my mind had drifted away, although I was still thinking of the words on the board. Yes I was. I tried to visualise how I would have looked to the blackboard. Was it as bored as me? A bored board who kept staring back without feeling any connection with me? Was it itchy? I would have been itchy if I were it. I mean if someone kept scratching on me with chalks, I would certainly swat at them like I would at irritating mosquitoes.
As I kept thinking, I tried to see the detailed view of the surface of the board. It probably had tiny ridges that made tiny bowl like structures that gathered up the chalk powder as a piece of chalk rubbed against the surface. The white powder would, for a while, nestle in a tiny black, uneven bowl. All warm and cozy till the ruthless duster dusted them apart. Oh that would be a sad parting. Like being wrenched away from the warm and cozy bed on a winter morning. It would fly away in little puffs in the air. Some would reach the ground to be again dusted away later, others would go down the dark and pink tunnels of the teachers nostrils to be coughed away. What was the point of such a life? To be dusted and coughed into nothingness? I was deep in the thoughts of the chalk powder's existential crisis when I heard a cough. Not a chalk powder-induced one but a deliberate cough to get someone's attention. The someone being me. Uh-oh, caught daydreaming again.
"So, tell me," the teacher asked, "what are you thinking?". I mumble something before I speak out my mind that is really just saying, "Stupid, chalk powder is non-living!"
I once remember staring constantly at the blackboard for a long time in hopes of getting interested in the words etched on it. I hadn't realised when my mind had drifted away, although I was still thinking of the words on the board. Yes I was. I tried to visualise how I would have looked to the blackboard. Was it as bored as me? A bored board who kept staring back without feeling any connection with me? Was it itchy? I would have been itchy if I were it. I mean if someone kept scratching on me with chalks, I would certainly swat at them like I would at irritating mosquitoes.
As I kept thinking, I tried to see the detailed view of the surface of the board. It probably had tiny ridges that made tiny bowl like structures that gathered up the chalk powder as a piece of chalk rubbed against the surface. The white powder would, for a while, nestle in a tiny black, uneven bowl. All warm and cozy till the ruthless duster dusted them apart. Oh that would be a sad parting. Like being wrenched away from the warm and cozy bed on a winter morning. It would fly away in little puffs in the air. Some would reach the ground to be again dusted away later, others would go down the dark and pink tunnels of the teachers nostrils to be coughed away. What was the point of such a life? To be dusted and coughed into nothingness? I was deep in the thoughts of the chalk powder's existential crisis when I heard a cough. Not a chalk powder-induced one but a deliberate cough to get someone's attention. The someone being me. Uh-oh, caught daydreaming again.
"So, tell me," the teacher asked, "what are you thinking?". I mumble something before I speak out my mind that is really just saying, "Stupid, chalk powder is non-living!"
