Spooky

We lay in the dark with the TV on. We've put a gate, one of those child-or-doge-proof ones, across the door so the cat can have free reign of the house without doge harassment. Stephen Colbert cavorts on the Late Show in flickering light, and Katie falls asleep to the sound of others staying awake around her.

Meanwhile, the dog stands in the doorway, staring out past the gate to the dark, empty hallway beyond, and periodically barks, a high-pitched, coughing sound, at the nothing she sees out there waiting for her. 

Used To It

"And did it freak you out," I ask my coworker, "when you found out your boyfriend had cancer?"

She thinks for a moment. "No," she says finally. "It was something that happened so much in my family that I was just, like, 'Well, this is what happens.'"

"Creative"

The flowchart I created at the VP's request was not quite what she wanted, and while her notes were pretty extensive, what they had in volume, they lacked in clarity.

"Just make it pretty," she says, when I call her to explain. "You're the creative one."

I shuffle the boxes and fix the fonts, thinking the entire time, "I'm the creative one."

Resonance

"So, Paul," I say as he's about to slide me into the MRI machine for the second time. "What do you like about your job."

It's quiet in the room now, but a few minutes ago the din of the machine buzzing and clacking, whirring and howling, unsettled me a little, until I finally got tired of startling and fell asleep.

"Well," he says after some thought, "I get to help people, and they're always learning new things, so that stays pretty interesting, but mostly it's just helping people."

The Acoustics of Wealth

The red plush fabric on the railings of the boxes in Carnegie Hall matches the upholstery on the seats, but it looks a little threadbare here and there. We're midway between the orchestra seats below, and the soft white ceiling inset with incandescent bulbs like jewels hanging airily several stories above, as the ensemble down on stage begins to play Beethoven.

I'm surprised: muscular, angular Ludwig, while still maintaining some of his momentum, sounds like he's had his edges sanded off, and the power of the 7th Symphony seems to have dissipated somewhat. I wonder at the acoustics of this room, if the men who built it specifically designed it to smooth out the rough spots so as not to offend the delicate sensibilities of the wealthy patrons of the arts who once frequented these now frayed chairs for their weekly doses of art.

Work Ethic

"One of the things I admire about you, about your work ethic," I tell Katie as we're sitting at her booth at the flea market, "is that you really finish stuff."

"Neil Gaiman, before he went crazy and married Amanda Palmer, used to say the way you get good at something it to finish lots of things," I continue, indicating the globes and centerpieces all around us. "You really finish things, and I wish I was more like you."

"Well, your work ethic is good, too," Katie says, but I can tell she's trying to think of a reply.

Rich People Medicine

The doctor's office is very nice, with its tasteful furniture, soft music and lighting, plush carpets, and friendly staff. Maybe a little too nice.

"Where's the desperation, the ambience of impatient despair?" I ask.

The woman behind the counter nods knowingly, waving towards the door as she says, "Out there."