Breaking Point

We see a figure slumped at his desk in a rundown house on the west side of Columbus. We shall call him Clem. The room reeks of last night's stale smoke and spilled beer. Clem's ragged snores cut through the air. A black dog stares at him with an air of judgement.

As he starts himself awake, his flailing arm scatters a forest of empty Miller High Life cans. He looks around the room blearily, wiping away drool and attempting to clear the crust from around his eye. How late was I up? he ponders as he straightens his glasses. His head is pounding, and his throat is parched, prompting him to seek his glass of water. "Hey buddy, you need to go out?" he asks the dog in a raspy voice.

He follows the dog (who we can call Eddie) down a steep flight of stairs. He opens the door for Eddie to do his business and lights a cigarette. At least I finished that damn paper last night, he attempts to console himself, now let's see if there's any way for me to not fail this class. "Let's go buddy!" Eddie scrambles inside, looking at Clem expectantly. "Sorry Ed, here's your breakfast," he says, pouring a scoop of kibble into his bowl.

Clem headed back upstairs to his room. Taking a seat at his desk, he tapped the space key on his laptop to wake it. As he took a seat, Eddie climbed onto his bed, which was a queen mattress laying directly on the ground. He logged on, then signed back into his school account. As his computer worked to pull up the requested information, he finally noticed the time. Shit, it's already after 10? Dammit, I have to work in less than an hour. How am I supposed to study for that test now? I work doubles today and tomorrow, you were supposed to be up at a reasonable time so that you could work on that now, dumbass. He shook his head as he navigated the student website to check his grades.

The grade for his writing class looked good. He had barely beat the submission deadline the night before, but he felt good about it. The remains of his system of balancing his mind for writing still lay strewn about his desk. Empty beer cans, an ashtray full of cigarette butts, an empty marijuana pipe, and a half-full coffee cup (Sometimes the coffee also contained whiskey, depending on what kind of a day it was). The four essential humors for coaxing the mind into an appropriate state for writing. Works every time he thought to himself.

He clicked over to his physics class website with a minor sense of foreboding. Let's get this over with Clem thought, just a bit sourly. What do I need to score on this final? It took him a moment to process, but as he looked at his grades, a pit began to form in his stomach. There's no way it should be that low... he began to panic as he looked at the abysmal numbers staring him in the face. Wait, that shouldn't be a 0, what happened? An extra credit assignment he had submitted the week before was still marked as a 0.

There's no way I can pass without that he thought, his mind racing why don't I have these point yet? I would need an 80 percent to pass even WITH that extra credit, there's no way I pass without it. At this point I might as well not even bother studying, there's no possible way...

He franticly searched for the TA's email address. There has to be a mistake, please let there be a mistake. He typed furiously, having to retype words multiple times before getting them correct. In less than a minute, he sent the email. Gotta get ready for work. In his haste to get ready for work and get out the door, he forgot to check his email.

It was a hectic day at work, so he didn't have time to look at his email until afterwork. Which he then forgot to do when his coworkers convinced him to come out for drinks to relieve the stress of the long night at work. He forgot again when he woke up late for work the next morning. He failed to check when he went to watch football with his coworkers that night as well. Not until he got home Sunday night, when horror finally punched through his exhaustion. Shit, I need to check on that!

He pulled up his email account on his phone with a slight sense of dread. The response had been fairly prompt, arriving about the time he had made it to work the day before. He had forgotten to press submit. If he had checked his email that day, the TA had told him that he had until the end of the weekend to resubmit the assignment for no penalty. That deadline had passed 10 minutes prior. Seriously? You idiot, how did you not check your email? You do this to yourself every damn time...

Well, at least I didn't study for nothing then he tried to justify to himself. Looks like we've wasted another semester. Dejected, he laid down to sleep wondering if it was even worth showing up for the exam the next day. Probably not....

That night, Clem had restless dreams. He dreamed he was walking through an office building. No matter how doors he opened or rooms he traversed, he could not seem to find his way out. He travelled through hallways and conference rooms and stairwells. Once, when he thought he was finally about to escape, he found himself right back where he started. Then the office turned into his high school building. Still, the rooms came without end. Then the room turned into a giant hamster wheel where no matter how fast he ran, he could never escape. He awoke in a cold sweat. So it went and so it goes. On and on, without end.