Post by Mi on Jan 2, 2014 22:32:20 GMT
Mi was slumped at her desk, her back at a diagonal angle with her shoulder-blades pressing uncomfortably against the back of her chair, which was wooden and the blue paint that covered it was chipped in places, revealing several other coats beneath it, from years of use before a time Mi could remember. It creaked dangerously every time Mi adjusted her weight, which was often.
She was so bored that her cursor even wavered and slides toward the Microsoft Word icon on her taskbar as she considered maximizing the window and doing her German homework and, in a fit of desperation, even edged nearer to the ‘PowerPoint’ symbol which concealed her Geography work but thought better of it before she could give herself cause for concern.
It was that awkward time between that when Mi felt justified in her assertion that it was too late to do homework (it was dark!) and that at which she was actually sleepy enough to affect the standard of her work. Consequently, she felt restless, as if a part of her was harassing her into action. The feeling was insistent, and at odds with her instinct to do nothing at all. There was really no competition, though.
Sighing, berating herself for the resolution which she was just reaching now but that had seemed inevitable all along, Mi discounted any possibility of homework, resumed mindlessly scrolling through her tumblr dashboard and waited dully for Lori to log on again.
7:09
For the most part, it was easy to count on the internet’s propensity to provide overstimulation to envelop her and provide distraction from the looming threat of controlled assessments and decision-making and from the small part of Mi that was spurring her into action, but sometimes, as was the case now, the endless uniformity of the sensation bored her. ’I exist’, she reflected, ’primarily in the imperfect tense.’ and she wasn’t sure if the thought saddened or amused her.
She thought she sensed something within her rolling its eyes drily at her self-indulgence and her resignation to this thought, so she muttered something like ‘Shut up’ under her breath. Her tone, which she told herself ought to have been harsh and dismissive, had a little more tolerance than intended, softened by her elation at the clarity of that distinct, wry disapproval. She knew shouldn’t humour it, of course, but she found herself grinning nevertheless.
Merely in order to have something to occupy herself, Mi opened a webpage on lore surrounding rowan trees and skimmed it and opened another word document, which she immediately saved as ‘Theoretical applied Lore on protection’ and began writing in what she intended to be a crisp and scholarly style. Before long, the document became more of a journal than anything, with later paragraphs being subtitled ‘Is magic a thing?’; ‘does magic need to be a thing for this to work?’;‘possible limits of this whole magic thing’; ‘heck rowan is definitely my wandwood of choice, everyone else go home’ and ‘omw can we make wands?’. She had begun drafting sloppy notes under the last section (‘Perhaps with the right sigil-thing? This is even more tenuous than that thread about the existence of cliff-ghasts.’) when several things became apparent in quick succession. Firstly, that internet terminology was seeping into her mind in a way she wasn’t entirely comfortable with, secondly, more crucially, that she was not taking this seriously at all and would need to revisit it when in a more research-friendly mindset and then - joy of joys- that her friend had returned! Brain a whirr of present tense, Mi maximized skype.
