Happiness

1:33am: I sit in front of my computer in a trance-like state, glancing from my computer screen every now and then to catch a glimpse of my cluttered room. A desk full of the gadgets and gizmos that I define myself by, bose headphones on one end of my ipod, two televisions, the new sitting precariously on top of the old, my piles of change, separated by denomination, lowest to highest in matching coffee mugs. On the floor rests a pile of my old work clothes, crumpled and unused. My room is like a warzone. Tidy vs. scattered, and at this point, scattered is on top, circling around from behind to ambush the tidy side when they least expect it. In the middle of all the chaos sits a boy, sunburned from his adventures at sea and tattered by lack of sleep. The only thing keeping him up is his desire to account his day's adventures. He sits alone, warm under his desk light, hands not daring to stray from the keyboard. He is happy as long as his hands move, the click of the keys singing to him like a mother to her child.