Hotel Room

I am sitting in my hotel room. It's 12:49. I'm supposed to be reading a book. A remarkable book titled Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin. I really do recommend this book. It leaves me sitting on this not-so-comfortable-piece-of-crap-sofa-convert-to-a-bed couch thinking about my life. What have I accomplished? What am I going to accomplish? Will I amount to greatness? Will my life ever have the ability to be converted to a novel and become a New York Time Bestseller? I really do wonder. What are the next few years of my life going to bring? Has my past amounted to anything? I've been on Earth for 17, almost 18 years. Have I done anything? Could I die tonight in this overused-broken hotel 'bed' and have accomplished enough to have a meaningful eulogy written for me? I'm not trying to be sad or depressing or anything here, to be completely honest, I am extremely happy with my life. Things couldn't be better. Reality. Check. Is that what this is? Or am I just setting myself straight? Not letting the happiness surpass the truth? That's bound to be what this is, a reality check. Time is such a novel concept. I've spent 30 minutes of my precious night (up till this very moment) writing this. I think I have finally procrastinated enough and now I am fully prepared to once again jump into this book and allow the dictating of my thoughts filling my brain with the life and learning's of another man. I get the opportunity to learn what he learned. Experience what he experienced. I unlike him, get to do it all comfortably and from the confines of this couch-turn-bed.