How on earth was he supposed to clear his mind when the only thing he could think about was how uncomfortable he was? He back felt alternatively pinched or unsupported, depending on which way he tried to sit up.

Sighing heavily, he stood, walked around his cushion and then tried kneeling on it instead. Feet tucked underneath him, he closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. There went the worry about coursework... there went the sounds... there went the sensation of people moving around the room... there went

OW

His feet were asleep. Now, all Thornton could think about was how tingly the bottoms of his feet were. This. Wasn't. Working.

Sliding off of his cushion, Thornton lay down on the floor, and scooted the cushion under his knees. How about this?

I'm not thinking of anything I'm not thinking of anything I'm not thinking of anything I'm not thinking of anything I'm not thinking of anything I'm not thinking of anything I'm not thinking of anything I'm not thinking of anything I'm not thinking of anything

Except that he wanted to practice his cello.

And that he has really hungry for a cookie.

And that he wanted to talk to the Astronomy professor about his parents sending his telescope.

And.

UGH!