Conditional Apathy

My fingers itch to alter more screen caps, but my mind lectures the nonsensical, time-wasting habit it could become so I refrain. I stare at the coffee stains and Sharpie marker marks but fail to worry over their permanency. Is it wrong of me not to care? The mess that I had cleared for company has begun to accumulate again. Is it wrong of me not to care?

AB RH PO. I have the ability to give blood. I have obtained a blood donor card, and acknowledge the type that I am. But I leave the phone ringing. Canadian Blood Services, calling for Miss Arwen Savage. All I can remember is how the blood drained like sap from my languid arms, my lackluster face watched the reluctant dribble while they wriggled the thick needle deeper and stabbed me with it again. Bruises, bruises... you're breaking blood vessels Ms. Nurse. See the broken blood vessels? Not enough to even save one life, you say? And you're giving up?... Canadian Blood Services, calling... is it wrong of me to leave the phone unanswered? I care. But I pretend not to. Hypocrite: silly, silly girl.

If I had a pipe I'd be outside right now, feeling the crisp bench nip coolly at my jean-covered thighs. Staring out at the dawn-wrinkled sky, the morning breeching and devouring what had been a cool but worthwhile night. I'd stare across the street; contemplate my neighbors while allowing the pipe-tobacco tendrils to curl from the oblong hole laced by my long and knobby digits. I might linger too long, not hear the phone ring inside or play ignorance. It's my friend. I can see her house from my doorstep, but I haven't the ability to go inside and answer the phone. No, it's not that. I'm just too lazy. Is it wrong of me not to care?

I'm so eager for the weekend that I let my week slide by. I study whole-heartedly but seem to indulge in this honor too late for it to matter. Procrastination is my art and I've become a master, is it too late to change my habits? Is it wrong of me not to care? Dory and Nemo still sit in my room. Dory is on my cluttered desk; Nemo still splays on the floor. The rest of my pixar toys are holding hands on my computer desk. I stare at them forlornly, at 7:55 in the morning, and wonder why I haven't brought Dory and Nemo downstairs yet. They must be so lonely, without their smiling friends...