All I see is decay.


JK, Blake! What a setup! Everything is new and fresh. Even your used tea bag looks like it could go for another hot swim. You own a brush that isn’t piled with dead hair. Your coffee mug is rust-free. There is a BAG of FLOSS my GOD. This pristine workspace could be a metaphor for your inevitably perfect teeth!

Your entire life is as it should be. So clean. So honest. This is a home office! We’re running a business here! And by “we” I mean “I” because “we” don’t talk about the loneliness.

Tell me, Blake: Is it convenient having professional meltdowns in the comfort of your own personal meltdowns? Do your days feel endless, Blake?

Good thing you have a pet! Pets are how we stay connected. Pets are how we manage the void. But your cat won’t look at you.

I had a dog who wouldn’t look at me when I practiced standup comedy in my bedroom. I didn’t quit comedy, but the dog died.

Does that make you uncomfortable?

Acknowledgment is vital, is my point. Hugs are just okay, and crying is more of a time commitment than a catharsis in this economy, but there is something special about hugging while crying that transcends the math. If you can find a willing recipient, I recommend it.

Do you think that when our parents used to tell us that a black cat crossing our path is bad luck, what they really meant is “Stay away from urban poor”? There are no stray cats in the suburbs, after all.

I’m getting off topic, Blake, and I’m doing it on purpose. I want to explore the juxtaposition between your cheery workspace and conspicuous solitude, but I fear it would be like your dragon slithering around a bunch of radio towers. Leave it be, suspended in time and tone, or the entire operation could topple.

On the other hand, your cat may just be holding out for a more flattering filter.


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