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5-02-2007
UPDATE: Slept in. Have to go give a final. Comic tomorrow.
I did not know that one little checkbox on my life goals would start such a chain reaction of emails. Thanks everybody! I wasn't being very serious!
I've been working on a short story all week, and I made one of my friends impose a strict deadline. That deadline is tomorrow at lunch. Will I make it? The world will never know! At any rate, I am posting little bits of it on my livejournal and here so that I can prove to myself that it exists. Hence:
They arrive at their little three bedroom house, one of the first in this new development, sitting on a well-manicured lawn cookie-cut out of the wilderness. Hannah says it is a shame about the suburban sprawl but does not really believe it. She is an idealist in everything but their relationship and real life. But she reads a lot of books.
Over dinner they have a conversation of silences, punctuated by hesitant cleared throats and the secret code sounded out by their silverware.
Tom watches an episode of Seinfeld he’s seen a dozen times or more. The one about the calzone. Then he watches a ball game. Hannah does the crossword while listening to This American Life or some tuneless indie rock. At ten they watch The Daily Show together, she leaning on him with her head on his shoulder. All of this is done with an automaton comfort.
They take turns brushing teeth. Hannah turns away as she changes into pajamas. They sleep like pretzels, as if trying to make up for the distance endured during waking hours.
Here is what I’m getting at, and I’ll be blunt: shoplifting is the tiny bit of excitement in Tom’s life, a little glimmer of something, whatever you want it to be. The only way to ever really have something is to take it from someone else. So Tom thinks. Now you know for sure. Hammer yourself over the head with it.
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