I find comfort in avoidance. Rather than coping with the issue of everyday life, I prefer to sit back and watch deadlines whoosh by. There are so many wonderful ways to waste time; who needs school or responsibilities or interpersonal relationships?

I especially find comfort in clearing space and time away to clearly show that, yes, indeed, I am deliberately circumventing people and their minions of inconvenience. I have a location particularly devoted to evasion from real life: my room. In it, I have a bed, where I lounge when I don’t feel like conversing, and a closet, which I lay in the bottom of when I really don’t feel like conversing. My closet is my favorite; I can close the white cabinet-doors and isolate myself from the despicable things in life. But what do I do on my adventures in dalliance?

I eat. Lots and lots of food. I find comfort in fried onion pieces, straight out of the can. They evoke images of gluttons wallowing in pools of pure pork fat; I reserve them for particularly annoying days. I will stare out the window, admire the clouds floating past, which are being more important and productive than me, and indulge in my fried onions.

I read. Lots and lots of books. I have a bookshelf, but it is a home for trinkets who don’t know where they wish to go in life. Instead, my books go on my bed, in my bed, under my bed, outside my closet, inside my closet, on my nightstand, inside my desk; anywhere but my bookshelf is fair game. I suppose I find comfort in books. They allow me to retreat into other worlds, and forget about the awful things of the real world.

Then there is a time when I am summoned back to the undeniable reality we call life. Perhaps it is my mother, calling me — “Did you write your essay yet? Did you practice violin yet? Did you drink water yet? Aiya! You need drink full glass water first thing in morning!” — or my homework — “Why haven’t you finished me? Why haven't you started me? You’re such an idiot! Don’t you know procrastination only gets worse?!” — or something else you are forced to confront. That is when most return to their real lives, and also when I diverge from most.

I study. Lots and lots of anything irrelevant. I find comfort in studying obscure subjects in extreme depth. Some of my favorite topics to figure out are theoretical physics, with Chris Langan and the universe, and music theory, with Paul Hindemith and the non-diatonic tonal musical system. Like with books, studying various subjects helps me to forget about my life as a student, and enter another world, this time, one of scholarly-ness.

And also like with books, there comes a time when I cannot possibly learn anymore — too much theory and conjecture. I must come back to a reality that is more relevant to myself. Thus, at this stage, I must be practical with my time. Of course, I am still avoiding my present, so I focus on my future.

I plan. I plan my life out, usually focusing on the career aspect. I pick a possible profession I might one day follow, and choose the appropriate path for that field. I scope out the colleges I would theoretically transfer to, the college majors, minors, and specializations I would pursue, the college courses and credits I would take, and the jobs I would apply to. Perhaps this gives me comfort in knowing that there are possibilities and hope in the future, even if the present seems bleak; perhaps I just really like reading course descriptions.

Finally, I must succumb to existence. I eventually fail at tasks I put myself up to, even avoidance. I begrudgingly realize that my mother is demanding me to do what is good and right, and that homework is a fact of life. After delaying and dodging my responsibilities, I must eventually fulfill them. And so I start organizing my room or writing my papers, and doing so, realize that it’s not quite as horrible as I envisioned. I take comfort in doing my work just as much as, or perhaps even more, than I do avoiding. All the dreading just lifts off and floats away at once. But then again, if I didn’t avoid anything at all, my responsibilities wouldn’t seem as rewarding when I complete them; I wouldn’t feel the rush and the relief as my dreading leaves me. Therefore, avoidance is a necessary piece to productivity.