I sit in this dull room, the whirr and clicks of computers and their masters echoing dismally against the cold bricks, the dim hum of voices scratching at the edge of my awareness. As I sit in this dull room of blue and white, the shrill tapping of keys typing, the obnoxious popping of knuckles cracking, i think of nothing. Of everything. I think of being home, in my warm bed, of being with friends, laughing, crying, talking, screaming. I think of writing, I think of reading. I think of drawing, singing, dancing. But i also think of running. Running away. Not forever, or without notice, just, getting away from this rutine. It bores me, angers me, annoys me, saddens even. But I can't run. Not for long. I am planted here, my feet solid as roots in the earth, my brain unwilling to leave what i have behind. I think of running, of escaping. But it is only a single thought, drowned out by the rest. I think now of sleeping. Of resting my mind. Of running, running in my dreams.