Parataxis: Recipe for the Super Sleuth

I am sitting here in the library between classes. It's noon. I am hungry. I think of hamburgers. Someone nearby smells of intense sunblock lotion mixed with ocean breeze. Curse my wolverine sense of smell...

I've got this assignment due in a few hours, but I've hit a roadblock. A sonnet... so structured and so subjective. Maybe the teacher is on to me. Maybe she knows I'm not like her other students. They write about love and cheesy emotional crap. I write about the irony and stupidity of English classes. What can I say, I like to be fresh... but not too fresh.

The smell is getting stronger, but at least it takes away my appetite. In an hour I'll report to 295. They'll tear my work apart and call me a failure. Whatever. I can run circles around those clowns.

Life is getting monotonous. I wake up every day between eight and ten. On days like this I'll just sit around and wait for something to happen. But it's always the same. Go to class. Go to work. Fill the hours in between with naps, books, and season premieres that I missed. It's nothing to brag about but it's life, and it keeps me going. But I know it's not forever. There's always a twist. I can feel one coming, and it ain't just that 10k on Saturday my little sister got me into. Something's about to happen. What can a man do but wait for it?

Now I'm thinking of those Samosas I ate yesterday. Not bad. That was a break from the monotony. What is life, but a long string of monotony punctuated by periods of exaltation and great misfortune? That's what we get for being creatures of habit. Just like the words on this blog... sentence after sentence in no seeming rank. What's the difference between one sentence and the next except the words? Would we be happy any other way? I don't think we'd look forward to stuff as much as we do if we experienced it every day. So what am I looking forward to? Maybe that something that is about to happen. Maybe it's not a good thing. Then again, if it's a misfortune, then I can always write about it. Sometimes people like that stuff. Sometimes they laugh. I know Jonny does. Good-for-nothing Jonny sittin on his high throne at the headhunter's.

Maybe that's what I'm waitin for. November is a long time away. At least a few essays away. They'll see... it's gonna blow 'em away.

The smell of sunblock is back. I decide to get my files in order.