THE MONTH of M A Y

It's the fastest month of the year, every year, because I really so much like it, but not this year, because I've been in some kind of a dream state ever since I woke up in A-pril. Really, it's just not funny, being me, and this far out out of it it. like i'm looking ooking down the wrong end of a stethoscope.

Binder Clips

I'm at the office working on this because I had to get away from my wife. I usually work from home, but the office exists, if I need it, to get away from all of the pressures of trying to run a household in this ever more dusty climate. The first thing I realized, once here, was that I had forgotten my cell phone and left it here. I mean, I haven't used it in awhile, and it's here, plugged in. I don't need it at home, because I have a "safe" phone. The next thing I discovered is that someone has been stealing the binder clips, the big ones. I have no idea why. I know that they're good for closing bags of potato chips, and some people may use them for sex, I've heard, but I'm talking about hundreds of binder clips! Maybe the intern is doing some kind of an art project with them. I think she has an art opening or some kind of graduate show this spring, so I'm going and if there are a lot of binder clips used in her art-- busted! I'm trying to finish my work so I can get to the "Y" and hopefully Spree won't be there again getting in my way. What do I have left to do? Oh, just this I guess. This is all I've done all day, besides trying to find a cheap hydroponics kit online. RS

Millions of little chunks.

Quite often at meetings I'd notice this guy with a little cassette recorder, which he kept pretty well hidden, but you know, you're not supposed to do that. You're also not supposed to confront people and accuse them of things, and one of my clinically confirmed conditions is an increasing inclination toward paranoia, so I was just waiting for SOMEONE ELSE to say something to the guy. Maybe people don't remember cassettes... They do? Okay. I'm yelling to my wife in the next room while I type this. She insists in editorializing me, ever since I had an online affair. Which I didn't consider an affair at all... I know, you do. What? Okay, I've got to run out and get some parmasian cheese. I'm not sure how to spell that. Is there a spellcheck on this thing? I think that's close. It's from Parma Italy, right, not Parma Ohio. I know! Of course I'm going to get a CHUNK of it. Not the pre-grated kind, yes, I know, you don't want to put ANTI-CAKING agent on your spaghetti. I can't spell that, either. Obviously I'm not Itallian. Okay, okay, I'm going.

R. Speen

R. Speen