Park the carToday is like most days. I wandered in a dreamlike state from class to class, across a campus with falling flaming leaves, up three flights of beer-stained stairs, into a room littered with the debris of my chaotic existence, and went straight back into a chronically unmade bed. I chased images and thoughts through my mind, getting nowhere, all the while vaguely aware of the music blaring from my computer. I closed my eyes without trying, and I dreamed without sleeping, and I thought without having real thoughts. I spent as much time as possible basking in nothingness, before the bar of guilt and responsibility fell on my shoulders, forcing me to do my homework, to think. Now it's back to nothingness. I'm lying on the floor of our dorm, enjoying an unexpected snack. “That’s a damn good thing,” I said, shoving a salsa-filled tortilla into my greedy mouth. “It’s amazing,” Thea agrees, closing her eyes to intensify. the already orgasmic experience of eating thick homemade salsa. I ignore the desperate, pained pleas of my classmates as little pieces of tomato fly from my overstuffed tortilla onto the carpet. The poor chip is terribly weighed down and breaks under pressure, causing the salsa to slide all over the place. I remember that in a moment of frenzied sanitation obsession last week, I actually cleaned the toilet. So there is no reason to be clean now. I lie in a salsa-induced stupor, squinting in vague curiosity at a plate of cookies in the kitchen. I try to ignore them, but I can't. Eat us, they hiss. I wander lethargically into the kitchen and engage in a momentary confrontation with the provocative plate of cookies. My heart races for a moment as I weigh the attributes of each cookie. I don't want to make a mistake and get the wrong cookie. This always happens, and I end up resenting my cookie and asking why it can't be more like the other cookies. I finally choose the largest, even though it seems to contain fewer raisins than the others, a drawback that bothers me. Nonetheless, I place my fingers around the cookie in a defensive grip, which means I'm going to eat a cookie as well as a little bit of whatever I touched today. too bad.