I was sitting at my desk doing Greek homework when I noticed something was
buzzing in my room. A wasp was hovering nearby, so I returned Stalin to his
cage, walked out, shut the door, and ran downstairs for a fly swatter,
fogetting that, due to the current construction on our house, everything that
was once in the laundry room is now in boxes distributed around the dining
room and the floor of the new laundry room. Instead, I picked up the front
page to today’s newspaper and rolled it up as I went back to my room. I
opened the door, and peered around, newspaper at the ready. The buzzing had
stopped. The wasp could be anywhere. Then I spotted him. There. On the
lampshade. I walked slowly towards him, lifting the newspaper. I’d have to
hit him hard because the lampshade was thin material and wouldn’t offer any
resistance. And my only weapon was the newspaper, which was flimsy at best.
Calculating the distance and speed I’d need, I raised my arm and wanged the
wasp really hard. Then I laughed as I watched the bulb blow and the lamp
topple down.

The room was now much to dark for homework of any kind, so I went back
downstairs to search for a light bulb among the contents of the laundry room
that were still distributed in the dining room and the new laundry room. The
only one I could find was a three way bulb. I hate three way bulbs. When I
turn the knob on a lamp, I want it to come on. When I turn it again, I want
it to go off. But I don’t seem to have much choice in the matter, so I’m
sitting in the glare of a hundred and fifty watts.

And I’m still not doing my Greek homework.