2004-08-23 9:28 p.m. The ghost of your father keeps leaving me Post-Its. Every morning, they're stuck to my monitor, blocking the visual well-traveled path to my email. You have one message, it says, and it's guess who. You, asking what the new Post-It says. Dude, I write back, it's your dad. Why don't you ask him? Oh yeah, 'cause he's dead and on top of that does not even want to talk to you. Instead he's using up *my* office supplies and leaving notes. Some of these notes, you would not believe, I write. Some of them have led to personal ontological crises. Like, what is the deal with life after death? Apparently it doesn't stop you from holding a pen. Apparently you can walk through walls. Okay, as you are my friend, here is what today's post-it note said: "Please buy more postits you are almost OUT" Just kidding. He said "I miss my son please tell him and if he could find out" You can't fit a lot of words on a Post-It. Does this message cut off mid-sentence? I don't know. I am typing here instead all half-awake with a mouth that cries out for toothpaste and a scratchy face getting a bit freaked out that we are on day EIGHT of a ghost man hanging out in my living room while I sleep and he's not even in the right house. Remember how you and your dad used to go fishing all the time? You said you used to bond? What if I told you my keyboard smells like fish now? Would you get all misty-eyed? Or would you buy me a new damn keyboard. Tonight, I am printing out a MapQuest map for your father from my apartment to your apartment and I am taping it to my monitor. Tomorrow morning, there had better not be a new Post-It. I can't take it anymore. I don't even remember your dad that well. I remember he was balding. I remember he couldn't hide his porn very well. If there is a new Post-It I will tell you what it says. Do not worry, amigo. Together, we will solve this inscrutable mystery. And when we both die, office products for miles around will dance to our whim and no one we know will ever forget us or how much we miss them or how much we *would* miss them if we would ever go away and leave their stuff alone. |
1. today is nice 3. happy yesterdays 8. thanks for hosting 4. doing other things |
(Proof that I am the only one reading.) |