I’m trying to work on my research paper. I didn’t complete the first major assignment, so it is necessary that this final assignment be done and be done well.

The weather is nice today, so my room is like an oven. Too hot to be productive in. And my desk is too small for my task anyway.

So, I move my large stack of reference books, my pile of photocopies of literary criticism, my bundle of blank notecards, and a handful of pens, highlighters, and pencils into the downstairs dinning-room.

I take Jasper outside and wear him out so he’ll sit quietly while I work and not cry for attention. I get us both a cold drink.

I do all this and I’m ready to be productive! But. Outside I can hear people debating over the cost and amount of blocks needed to finish construction of a new wall and porch. Upstairs Jared playing War on Xbox Live, the volume so loud that sitting an entire floor away is the equivalent of sitting in the first row at an IMAX. And even over the sound of guns I can hear his usual commentary, “Come on.” “Fuck you.” “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I open one of my Ibsen books anyway and begin reading. I get so far as “There was no biographical information even available in English until–” and he’s downstairs eating all things noisy and crunchy and turning the TV on, then turning it up to compete with the farm equipment outside.

I’m going to scream.

Come on. Fuck you. You’ve got to be kidding me.