Parking the Car :: Short Story New York Papers

Parking the Car directly has been uniform most days. I wandered in a dreamlike situate from class to class, across a campus with f every last(predicate)ing fiery leaves, up deuce-ace flights of beer-stained stairs, into a room littered with the debris of my chaotic existence, and straight patronize into a chronically unmade bed. I chased images and thoughts in my mind, acquiring nowhere, while faintly aware of music drifting from my computer. I disagreeable my eye without trying, and dreamt without sleeping, and thought without thinking real thoughts. I spent as much time luxuriating in nothingness as I could, forward the bar of guilt and responsibility clamped pour down on my shoulders, compelling me to do homework, to think about thinking. Now it is back to nothingness. I am assembly on our dorm room floor delighting in an unexpected snack.This is diabolic good stuff, I say, shoving a tortilla heaped in salsa into my greedy mouth. This is amazing, Thea agrees, shuttin g her eyes to intensify the already orgasmic experience of eating homemade chunky salsa.I disregard the desperate and pained pleas of my hall mates as undersize pieces of tomato fly from my overloaded tortilla onto the rug. The poor chip is terribly weighed down and breaking under the pressure, causing salsa to slide off on all sides. I remember that in a arcminute of frenzied vigorous obsession last week, I actually cleaned the toilet. There is, therefore, no cont peculiarity to be clean now. I recline in a salsa-induced stupor, pull a face in vague curiosity at a plate of cookys in the kitchen. I try to ignore them, but I just cant. exhaust us, they hiss.I saunter lethargically into the kitchen and engage in a evanescent face-off with the provocative plate of cookies. My heart speeds up for a moment as I weigh the attributes of each cookie. I dont want to take up a mistake and take the wrong cookie. That always happens, and I end up resenting my cookie and asking it why i t cant be more like the other cookies. I finally settle on the biggest one, though it does be to have fewer raisins than the others, a drawback that bothers me. Nonetheless, I secure my fingers around the cookie in a defensive death-grip, which means Ill be eating a cookie as well as a little snowflake of everything else Ive touched today. Oh well.