I can see it coming.
I’ll arrive when the class is about to start; it’s better than hanging there, wasting precious minutes in waiting inside a cold classroom.
I’ll wait for my turn to spit out blocks of nonsense which I managed to cram into my brain so poorly that it freezes in the middle of the process. The suffering will continue until the last shards of sentences are removed from my flesh, slowly, with no anaesthesia. What shall I do about these open wounds? Apply some lemon, add another paragraph, stare into the void while thousands of questions are being asked.
Yes, I’ve already tried looking at it from the bright side; I’ve even preached the possible benefits of this daily exercise, so reminiscent of Tom Sawyer. However, when I find that I have to dedicate the best minutes of dawn to thoughts other than my own, I wonder whether this is some kind of Dantesque Inferno at the end of which I’m supposed to, like the bitter poet, gratefully encounter the familiar yet breathtaking view of a starry sky.
At least Mt. Fuji is visible for the third consecutive day. That should be a good sign.