As a young man,

I am prone to certain oddities. Take just a minute ago for instance. I was eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my living room in my underwear. I was hopping up and down and wiping the peanut butter off on my Hanes. Now they're stained. What is wrong with me?

Family Reunion

I woke up this morning to find my father in the kitchen, rummaging through the freezer for ice cubes while the tap ran in the sink. I was confused because my father had been dead for eighteen years.

"Dad?" I asked, cautiously making my way into the kitchen. Setting his hands on his hips he turned to stare at the counter next to the stove. He wore a white tank top smeared with oil and grass stains, small khaki shorts sitting high above the knee. His skin glistened between flecks of dirt and grass, and the thick dark hair on his arms and legs lay matted from the humidity outside. He continued to perspire, even as he stood in front of the freezer.

"Who did the lawn last?" he asked, taking off his glasses and pulling his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his forehead. 

"Mom took over," I said. "After you died. And then when I turned eleven I started doing it."

"Oh," he said, sliding his glasses back onto his face and looking up, out past the window, beyond any sort of specificity.  "Because whoever did it last did a terrible job. I just did it. The right way."

"Well I moved out. So I think Mom does it now."

"Your mother," he said, smiling, shaking his head as he tilted down to look at his feet. He had yet to look at me.

"I think I'm still asleep," I said.

"Oh?" My father asked, leaning against the counter.

"Yes," I said, nodding. "I remember this kitchen. This awful crawling wallpaper. Blue vines. I live somewhere else now."

"I see. Well, I made you a baked potato," he said, making a gesture to an empty table.

"I'm not hungry," I said, moving to leave the kitchen. "I have to go anyway. I'm going to be late for work."

"But you have to make time to eat. You're a growing boy."

"I'm an adult, dad. I finished growing."

"I missed that, didn't I?"

"Yea. But you couldn't help it. It was an accident."

My father nodded, his eyes glistening but fixed. Without another word he turned back to the freezer, and I remembered how easy it was to find yourself alone; how difficult it was to live that way.

Lately, things have been . . .

"So, that's it then? I'm adopted?"
"Yes, Mark. But that's doesn't change
how your mother and I feel about
you."

"I eat crepes and play with tape.
I can't be that hard to get along with." 

Rule #1: If you're going to get stuck on an elevator,
keep good company.
Rule #2: Be sure and press all the buttons. 

"What are you wearing right now Janice?"
"A powder blue power suit."
"Oh, Janice. I think I'm going to have
to end this phone call."   

I don't know who Sarah is, but she's a lucky girl. 

I'm still not entirely sure how I haven't
been fired yet.

I'll write about what this all means later. I'm just too tired right now. 

Water Song.

Never one to be known for impersonations, Daryll realized that in order to convince Trisha from accounting to go out on a date with him, he would need to pretend to be somebody else. It could be anybody, really, so long as it wasn't himself, and it would only need be for a handful of hours. At least until she'd said yes to their date; at least until he had tricked her into bed with him.

He decided to use a commanding personality. Someone strong and domineering, with a staggering gait and a smile so thin it could just as easily be a scowl. He thought for thirteen minutes before deciding on The Searchers John Wayne.

Unfortunately for Daryll, Trisha hated westerns. She hated deserts and she hated sand, she hated Arizona and she hated New Mexico. The sight of large, red rocks in old films made her uneasy, and the idea of riding horses to chase Indians made her visibly upset. Once, she even went so far as to poison a small cactus someone kept in their cubicle.

Almost seemingly unrelated: Trisha was a talented ventriloquist.

When Daryll finally worked up the nerve to ask Trisha out, he did so in a studly, cowboyesque drawl. Panicking, wide-eyed, not knowing what to do, Trisha grabbed a cup of water on her desk and began drinking from it furiously. With her hand, she made a mouth. Fluttering it open and closed, never once moving her lips, she sang to him: "No, no, no, no, no, no, no."