I sit in the quiet buzz of the classroom, and the brown chalkboard and fading bulletin board with faded letters seem to close in slightly on me. Lightly breathing, the life of the room whispers its way around each desk, leg, and chair. The fluorescent lighting, reminiscent of the '80s, give no warmth, but their presence, so old and begging for replacement, allow a sense of familiarity and nostalgia to creep in, warming the soul, if not the body. My eyes are dry and beginning to droop in a desperate attempt to remind me that, yes, sleep is important too. But when have I ever listened to my body?

The only window in the room is a squarish latched window with bold red stickers prounouncing the window to be "EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY," requesting "PLEASE KEEP WINDOW CLOSED." It tempts me. Only an armsreach away from my left, I imagine the cold wintery air blasting into my face, causing my eyes to sting and water, moistening them and waking me up. The drowsy mood of the classroom might be turned around then. No more students staring blankly and dumbfounded at the flickering computer screens humming in their face. They would all turn their heads to see why the window was open. Of course, within seconds, their attention would be gone and the window forgotten, but that is okay too.

Instead, I look through the window. The bright sun belies the cold outside. But I don't care. I want to be out there, struggling through the cold wind that tries to eat my hair and my exposed fingers and nose. No more of this stuffy room that is turning my face and eyes pink and dry. No more sitting stiffly in an uncomfortable blue chair that makes me feel like I need to improve my posture. No more.

No more no more.