I drink my coffee in purgatory, awaiting some unknown event to take place. I gaze up into the heavens, always looking for that little, subtle sign to appear; but it never does. Delusions of grandeur gives way to a possible stagnate, non-changing existence, and I become frightened of the concept of terminal boredom. I feel like I'm waiting on a train to come by on abandoned tracks. I'm always expecting a surprise party even though it's not my birthday. I walk to the mailbox ten times a day, expecting that mystery check to appear. I'm watching vigilantly for that snow storm in July...