Write me:
skot AT izzlepfaff DOT com

Thursday, 29 January
Blue Lacuna

Okay, I owe you another explanation. Listen, here's the thing: I don't have one. In the spirit of mealy-mouthed half-qualifications, I have only the same one you've heard already.

It turns out that recuperating took a little longer than I anticipated. Yesterday a co-worker remarked, "Hey, you've got your color back." My color. What color? I'm as white as any piano key, except for the black piano keys. But it's true, you apparently don't just bounce back from pneumonia just because the pills are all gone. (I've still got the ativan--interested parties are encouraged to check Craigslist.)

But I think I'm back in the game now. I actually have proof of this; yesterday at a supervisor's meeting at work (the venue at which co-worker informed me I had achieved whiteness again as opposed to, I guess, wan translucence), I won a plushie armadillo for being the only person in the room who knew what Twitter was, and it wasn't a hallucination. Also, the context of the meeting was our new payroll compensation policies, and I didn't scream out, "OH MY FUCKING GOD, I'M CRYING BLOOD!" and rush out in search of whiskey.

I also had a nice moment with the CEO, who was sitting next to me at the meeting when talks turned to the challenges of catering to the wishes of young workers. "What do you say to young workers who want to work 'alternative' hours or expect more than you might be used to being asked for?" said the consultant who was running the meeting.

" 'You're fired'?" I offered.

"That's what I was going to say!" exclaimed the CEO. The consultant gave us a wintry, alum-mouthed look. I didn't fucking care. I had the CEO behind me and a plushie armadillo in front of me.

But like I said, it took a while getting back. A couple days ago, I pulled on a shirt before work without, as usual, paying much attention to what I was wearing--I'm basically jeans-and-whatever-I-grab shirt. Once I got to work, I looked down and realized I'd never seen this particular pullover zip-top thing in my life. When I got home, I asked the wife re: shirt, "Is this yours? I grabbed it out of the closet by accident, I guess."

"I gave that to you for Christmas," replied the wife. "You wore it for three days when you were sick." Jesus. I really had--and continue not to have--any memory of this goddamn shirt. Then I immediately dashed out the door and went downstairs to our garage to check out the brand new sports car I had obviously forgotten as well. The wife followed me down, puzzled, and found me staring at our parking space, occupied by the same 2000 purple Plymouth that we've had for a while.

"Where's my convertible, you fucking goblin snatch?" I cried. "Don't tell me you parked it on the street."

"What the fuck are you talking about? What convertible?" She had brought a kitchen knife with her, and she waved it unconsciously at her hip in graceful ovals.

"The one I forgot you gave me for Christmas!" I screamed. "Like the shirt!" I pulled the shirt-front up over my head and ran around in small circles, emitting piercing shrieks to emphasize my point, and when I had to stop to catch my breath, the wife had gone back upstairs. I didn't have my keys on me, having left them in the apartment with my pants, so I slept in the car that night, stacking the floor mats on my naked midsection to stave off the cold of the unheated garage, and in my fitful sleep, I heard raccoons saying frankly defamatory things about my uncle Sparky.

So what I took away from that whole thing is that you don't necessarily bounce right back from a serious illness. And, if I'm honest, I didn't help myself out much either in a lot of ways. When you're immunocompromised, dehydrated, and just plain old fucking wiped out, one could do much better than to put on movies such as these:

Max Payne
Death Race

But then again, these may have simply been my wife's attempts to kill me once and for all. (You know, now that I think of it, the phrase "kill me once an for all" is basically stupid. As opposed to killing me a few times, halfheartedly and temporarily? Actually, now that I say that, I should write a movie treatment of that and pitch it to Lionsgate.)

Now I feel stronger for enduring them, really. You couldn't show those gray, humorless idiocies to bone marrow transplant patients for fear of destroying them. I don't think Mark Wahlberg is even allowed inside hospitals.

So, sorry it's been a while. My life is pretty dull, but it's a really contented sort of dull, and I think I'm ready to start complaining about it again. Quietly. Stealthily. I still haven't found my fucking sports car, the wife keeps that goddamn knife with her all the time, and you know what? Car mats are shit for keeping you warm at night.

And what you hear about uncle Sparky from those slanderous ball-gnawing raccoons? He was acquitted.

Note: Comments are closed on old entries.


Make sure you negotiate up-front points on Dead Once And For All II through IV or they won't take you seriously.

Comment number: 017802   Posted by: flamingbanjo on January 29, 2009 09:00 AM from IP:

i have to say that "where's my convertible, you fucking goblin snatch?" has got to be the greatest prose ever written. loved it.

Comment number: 017803   Posted by: sarah on January 29, 2009 10:07 AM from IP:

Glad you're back, dude. Sorry about the convertible.

Comment number: 017804   Posted by: Barb on January 29, 2009 12:09 PM from IP:

Where have you been all my life? Well, here apparently. Love, love, love your writing. Feel better, write more, dance monkey.

Comment number: 017806   Posted by: Rhonda on January 29, 2009 07:37 PM from IP:

Where have you been all my life? Well, here apparently. Love, love, love your writing. Feel better, write more, dance monkey.

Comment number: 017807   Posted by: Rhonda on January 29, 2009 07:42 PM from IP:

I was dragged to a theater to watch Wanted, where I was forced to pay money to watch ridiculously awful tripe about a Loom of motherfuckin' Destiny. I still haven't forgiven the 'friends' that dragged me there.

Comment number: 017808   Posted by: You can call me, 'Sir' on January 30, 2009 05:58 AM from IP:

You know, the more bad things happen to you, the more fun we have. On the other hand, we don't want you to die. Keep that in mind.

Comment number: 017809   Posted by: Bix on January 30, 2009 08:28 AM from IP:

You had me worried for a few weeks. I had a feeling you weren't gonna bounce back real quick, you don't exactly live the 'i love myself' lifestyle, but I wasn't ready to read some notice in the paper about you. Although that may be the only way we'll find out the real facts. But who needs real facts when we can be izzle-fied? xo

Comment number: 017810   Posted by: Sheryl on January 30, 2009 12:22 PM from IP:

Glad you're back. I was getting worried that I'd discovered this warm ray of brilliance too late. Keep writing, for the love of all that is vitriolic.

Comment number: 017811   Posted by: Sandals on January 30, 2009 01:56 PM from IP:

Good Lord - I thought I was the only old person left who knew what alum was.

Comment number: 017823   Posted by: Cheryl on February 4, 2009 11:17 AM from IP:

Wait, how can winning a plushie armadillo at work for something vaguely Twitter-related not be a hallucination?

Comment number: 017824   Posted by: brainwidth on February 4, 2009 01:40 PM from IP:

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