Absolutely Absurd

What does one do when they can focus enough to stay awake, but not enough to know what she is writing? She is bored, yet she cannot create. She is stifled in a foggy state of being. Maybe create a new line of assassins. Or perhaps they’re vampires. Or both. But, no. She doesn’t even have enough focus for that. She hears the repeated words and the play going on in the background, and because she is on the hard floor, she can’t think like she is supposed to. The Russians and the British blather on. There is a cramp in her body. A hunger pang or something bloodier? This is perhaps both.

What am I to do when I am out of sorts? I feel as though I need to play music, but my headphones are absent. Don’t want to bring them because I don’t want to miss a cue.  I missed one already. Brushed it off. All forgiven. But what of the time? An hour and a half more at least. I wait for food. Then water washing over me. And just enough sleep to fuel my altered monologue. I’ve only just started again, and I already require the rest. Maybe I need colors. Maybe I need more than simply text.