The picture over there is called Hope. I have to say, it doesn't really work for me. You can find it on the web at mentalhealth.net. The doctor on the site has analyzed Obama's psychology of hope, MLK's psychology of faith, and will help you break the texting-driving habit.
I got way more hope from my last conversation with Sam. He woke me up with a midnight phone call a few days ago.
Just want you to know I'm working hard, Dad, he said. Got the first eight words of my three-thousand-word essay.
I laughed. First eight, huh? That's good.
Oh yeah. I'm almost, like, halfway there.
Almost. When's the essay due?
Tomorrow.
Oh.
Midnight, tomorrow.
Oh, well then.
I got lots of time, Dad. Pot of coffee should do it. I'll call you in the morning, tell you how I'm doing.
He hung up. I smiled into the darkness, and let myself sink back into sleep.
2 comments:
Hope he got it done. I remember those all-nighters.
You felt gross the next day, that's for sure. At least he had hope.
Yup. In fact, he finished it in plenty of time to go drinking the next night. Ah, youth.
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