"This has simply gone too far!" were the words that echoed menacingly through Bradley's room, which was engulfed in an endless stream of paperwork. University life was not agreeing with Bradley the way he had anticipated - his life, it seemed, had become little more than completing one paper after another. It wasn't that he was unhappy with what he was studying, but he simply couldn't enjoy it the way he had enjoyed high school. Oh, how he wished he could go back .
After having yet another exhausting day of classes, Bradley found himself needing to relax. He appeared completely beaten as he laid his head in his hands, contemplating the incredible amount of work he had to do over the next several days. Abruptly, he rose and began walking to the kitchen. In his own, almost mechanical way, he opened the refrigerator, removed a drink, carried it to the counter, opened it, removed the tab, placed the tab in a recycling bag, took one small drink and returned to his waiting seat in the bedroom. These rituals and set patterns were something that had always given Bradley a structure in his life. They had always maintained themselves as an unwavering constant. But most importantly, they were carried out slowly, and in the current times of speed and fast results, it was very reassuring to be able to take time to go through the routines which had been a part of Bradley's life for at least fifteen years, now.
Bradley savored his drink, choosing to drink it very slowly, as if in an attempt to slow down time. Bradley tried again to put words to the page, typing away furiously (certainly the ability to type over ninety words per minute helps when you have to write as much as he does), but his mind, usually clear when on task, was becoming muddled with concern for his many other on-going projects. His concentration slowly deteriorated, and even his fingers, which normally seemed to have minds of their own, slowed to a dead stop.
