My closet doors are open. I cant move. I should be moving. I’ve got a million things to do. I really cant move. My alarm is annoying. I should get up so that I can get something from my closet, put it on, and then go downstairs and have coffee. I wonder if it’s possible to call someone to come to my house and bring me coffee. I’m really only interested in coffee.
Never mind, my phone is on the floor across the room. I forgot that I threw it at my alarm this morning. Fucking alarm. I hope the power goes out. If the power goes out the alarm would shut up. Maybe I can will the power to go out with my mind. Or will the alarm off with my mind. That would probably be easier than shutting down the city’s power grid with my mind. I think it would be anyway, I’ve never really tried to shut off a power grid with my mind. Might be worth a shot.
The power grid is probably downtown somewhere. It’s probably by work. Christ, I cant move. Too heavy. I don’t like moving. I should’ve set the alarm to the radio. Then I could listen to music while I didn’t move, instead of having my dreams end with a truck backing towards me. Damn truck is always right about to crush me right before I wake up. I heard that if you die in your dreams you die in real life. Fucking truck.
If I rolled over I could probably grab the cord with my hand and then drag the alarm closer to me and then maybe it would be in arms reach. Or maybe minds-reach.
Sometimes when I’m downtown walking through all the people I scream in my head "IS ANYBODY PSYCHIC!" And no one ever is. I should assume that nobody is psychic, but I figure they don’t want to blow their cover. Or a psychic person did answer but then quickly erased my memory of the conversation as not to blow their cover. I don’t really want to talk to anyone anyway. Everyone talks too much.
I was supposed to be in work two hours ago.
Right now I should be at my desk in my cubicle wondering if anyone in the office is psychic. There probably isn’t though, because if there were I would’ve been fired months ago for never working and bothering them with my mental screaming every few minutes. Imagine if someone worked next to you all day in a bland office and just shouted "CAN YOU HEAR ME?" You’d have to say yes every time and then you’d just go crazy and fire that person. Even if you weren’t in a position of power to fire anybody. They’d probably understand and help him pack his shit.
I figured I’d be in a position of power by now, firing people willy nilly. They fire people all the time for no good reason, I figure I could fire anybody I wanted. Maybe if I worked my way up the ladder I could work from home. I’d never have to move. I could lie in bed all day and call the office and have them come down and shut off the damned alarm. And bring me coffee. God how I need coffee.
My job is a waste. I call people on the phone all day. Everyone hates talking on the phone. Everyone. I call clients all day, people that my company works for and still, fifteen or sixteen times a day someone just yells "No Thanks!" into the phone and hangs up. They assume we’re telemarketers. I think all the telemarketers are in India by now. That’s where they go.
The great telemarketer migration of the early two thousands. That’s how they’ll probably refer to it in the history books. They all went over there. It’s probably an easier life there. A lot more diseases to worry about though.
I should get a disease. They don’t hustle people that have diseases. They’ve got every right in the world to lie around all day and be unproductive. If it weren’t for the disease, they’d have it made. No job to bustle off to and be generally unimpressive at. No social life to regret not having. Who needs a social life in India. Most of those diseases are probably communicable. You’d probably be happy just having a life over there. Happy to be alive and helping Americans buy junk or fix computers. That’s probably a good life. I should go there.
But I cant really move. Too heavy. I could move. I think. But what the hell is the point. The only good thing that will come of it is coffee. I’d get some coffee and then I’d go to work where I’d count the seconds till I drank more coffee every fifteen minutes or so. The more coffee you drink, the more active you look and less you’re actually doing. You look like you’re full of energy because you cant stop moving from the caffeine. But in actuality, you’re drinking the coffee so that it’ll make you piss more and can spend more time alone in the bathroom away from everybody and that goddamned computer.
I haven’t done an honest days work in years. Nobody seems to notice or care because I don’t talk to anyone or bother to make them care. I sit in my little corner and try to not draw attention to myself so I can keep my job and get a paycheck so that I can afford coffee. So that I can get up in the morning and go to work and drink more coffee. My whole life seems to be governed by a bean. That’s pretty strange.
Bed. Bed. Get out of bed. Scream in your head, get out of bed. Someone has to hear you. Someone has to come. Someone is supposed to. That’s what I thought would happen. It hasn’t yet.
Man that fucking alarm. What’s unbelievable about that alarm is that someone sold it to me. There is such a thing as an alarm clock salesman it turns out. I had no idea you could be an alarm clock salesman. Bad guidance councilor I guess. I went to a store next to my office for an alarm clock, I had smashed my other one. With my fist. It hurt like hell but it was the most satisfying moment of my life. I had to put the other one across the room so I wouldn’t make a habit of smashing things and being satisfied.
Inside the store were a bunch of electronic gizmos. Everything beeped. I hated it. A man in a red shirt saw that I was unhappy and came to help me. He asked me what I needed and I told him that I had hurt my hand smashing my alarm clock. He thought I was kidding and then told me all about the alarm clocks he had in his store. The one he sold me was the most expensive, but he said it was the best. I assumed he knew what he was talking about and then bought the warrantee incase I had another satisfying moment.
I don’t know what makes this alarm clock so special. It just makes noise so I wake up. I imagine that’s what they all do. Maybe not, how would I know, I don’t own an electronics store. Not yet. No. I’ll never own an electronics store. Too much beeping. I’d wind up smashing the whole building. With my fist.
But there it is, all shiny and new and loud as hell. Best damned alarmclock money can buy. It would be quiet plastic splinters if I could get out of bed.
The phone is ringing. Someone please answer the phone. Please. I cant. It’s probably work. Maybe they’ll get worried and send for help. Maybe one of those fat dogs with the whiskey on it’s neck. That would be great. A big dog full of whiskey. I could go for one of those. If they sold those by work I’d be out of this bed so goddamned fast. One dog full of whiskey, please. Sold. I’d be up every morning.
I’d be able to bring whiskey to work. I could probably still bring whiskey to work. I’m a grown man. I’m allowed to have a drink if I like a drink. What could they do?
They’d probably fire me. I suppose they could do that. Fuck. I shouldn’t get fired. I need the job. Actually. I need the bed. I already have the bed. It’s paid for, they cant take that away could they? They could even have the sheets and the pillow. I wouldn’t really need them. Ah, but then there’s winter. I’m dumb enough to live in a place where the weather changes whenever the hell it feels like. In winter I’d be fucked. NO! Whiskey dog! Whiskey dog would keep me warm. That’s what his goddamned job is. I paid good money for that dog, he should do his fucking job.
Sorry whiskey dog. I don’t mean to yell. You know how I get sometimes.
It’s too late to even make it to work if I wanted to. I don’t know when the busses run at this time of day. The morning busses run like clockwork. There isn’t any clockwork anymore. Every ten minutes there’s a box full of people on their way to their jobs. Important people. Young people. Men and women. Beautiful women. Janice. Janice rides the busssssss.
Janice is the most beautiful creature on gods green earth. Though most of it isn’t really green. And I don’t know if there’s a god because he never answers my psychic calls either. But Janice is on that bus every day at 815 like Janice is full of clockworks. Wheels and gears and metal and teeth. All shoved into a pretty young body like I’ve never seen before. I didn’t go to work today. I missed her this morning. Christ how I missed her this morning.
Every morning for ten miles of bus ride I scream in my head and try to make her hear me. I shouldn’t let her into my head, there have been things thought there that she shouldn’t see. I wouldn’t want to spoil her. But damn it she’s worth it. She should hear me. She should see me. How could she hear you this goddamned noise this fucking alarm! ENOUGH ALARM! I know. I'm sorry. I’m awake!
God how I hate that alarm. I’m sorry. Sorry for yelling. Whiskey dog, please shut off that alarm.
Janice. I saw her once from a window at my office. I was getting coffee. I needed coffee. She was walking by in her pretty blue suit. Running. She was hustling by. Hurrying. She had somewhere to be. She’s probably got a million things to do too. Slow down, I thought, please slow down and wait. I don’t move well. She was just outside my window and ten floors down. I could spot that pretty blue suit from forty floors. A hundred. She knows. She knows I’d see her from there.
Phone. The phone again. Ringing phone, beeping alarm clock. Before I threw the phone at the alarm I pictured in my head that the phone would make contact with the alarm and they would explode in a fireball. Like a sun. Up in a flash of silenced glory. And I’d be warm for just a second. Just from the heat of the explosion.
The phone bounced off my dresser and fell to the ground. Now it’s in cahoots with my alarm clock. Screaming at me to get up. And go. Go to work. For coffee. For my alarm clock. The alarm clock needs me to be up so that I can go to work and sit in that goddamned gray place for as long as I can tolerate it before going crazy. Just enough and then I’m out. Free. To get on the bus and be tormented by Janice and her pretty blue suit. SOMEONE HELP ME PLEASE. Off the bus and back in bed. Bed bed get out of bed get out of bed out of your head out of bed get out of your head SOMEONE HELP.
Janice dropped her lighter the other day. It clacked on the floor and I thought it would explode and I thought of ducking for cover but it was too late. It already hit the floor but everyone was fine. Everything for just a second was ok. It was alright. But she was already gone. Got off the bus at the stop on Green St. Full of clockwork and speed. She’s all in hurries. Quicker than me. I yelled for her. "Your lighter. Janice! Your lighter!" She was already off. Gone. All I need. Gone.
Christ it’s late. Already dark.
I have it now. Her lighter. It’s next to my bed. When they fire me for missing too much work and the electronics store guy comes to repo his alarm clock, it’ll just be me and whiskey dog. Calm down whiskey dog. Everything’s ok. That’s his. It’s his. Tell Janice about the lighter, electronic store guy.
Don’t mind Whiskey Dog, He doesn’t bite. I tell him not to. He’s tame. He hears me.
I knew you’d understand, guy. You’re a good guy and a hell of a salesman. Maybe you could get me some coffee, guy. I hope you would. I need it. I need something. Whiskey dog, go play with the guy. I need to be alone for a while. It’s late. I should be asleep. Wake me in the morning whiskey dog. I’m going to need you. I cant leave here, but it’s important that I’m awake. I have important things to do here at the office. Just don’t let them take my bed. Or Janice’s lighter. It’s important. Right Janice?
I’ll just stay here with you and the Whiskey Dog, Janice. If that’s ok. I don’t want to move anymore. It’s too much. I cant take it. And please, if you loved me, you’d turn off the noise. Make it stop. Please.
Ok. I love you. Go back to bed.
I love you too. I knew you’d hear me. I knew it. Back to bed. Back to bed. Back to bed.
needs work. Tempo is a bit off. Need Janice to show up later, and to coincide with the appearance of Whiskey dog, right after he yelles in his head. Snapp. And he's got a whiskey dog. SNapp. and he's got a wife. And could probably cut out the lines for the Alarm Clock Salesman. Ehhhhhhhhhh. needs work.
Let me know.