He Thrusts His Fists Against The Posts

I woke up today disgusted with sleep. Enough dreams, no joy. A comatose dungeon, I thought, and leapt out of bed. My mom was gone; my sister along with her. I took a shower and did the usual hokey-pokey in front of the sink: contacts, brush your teeth, stare at reflection. I didn't bother with breakfast. It seemed unnecessary at eleven in the morning.
Somebody once told me that a person's life is worth as much as he makes out of it. Actually, nobody's told that to my face, by they throw it at my back every time I turn around. I feel the urge to throw this laptop out the window because it's wasting my time, wasting every breath I take with angsty rants and pointless humor. But I won't.
It's not in my nature.