With Apologies to Tao Lin

Paul sat at his computer, staring idly at the dialogue box of his gchat conversation. The last line of conversation was dated four minutes ago. He sent a message.

“Robert? Are you there?”

“Yeah. I was watering the flower Andrea sent me. I can’t remember what kind it is.”

“I’m bored. There’s nothing to do.”

“You should try doing something meaningful.”

“No, I’m no good at that. I’m pretty sure everything is meaningless.”

“So am I. Most of the time I just feel confused, and want to go back to bed.”

“I haven’t opened my curtains in a week. I’m not sure if I’ve been awake during the day or night. It doesn’t matter. There is nothing on TV and I am eating an Asian fruit salad.”

“Does fruit grow in Asia?”

“I’m pretty sure. I think that’s where fruit comes from.”

“Oh. I thought it came from South America or some other place with Spanish people.”

“Oh yeah, I didn’t think about it like that.”

“I have a journal full of notes, but I feel like I’ve never ‘written’ anything.”

“You’re writing right now.”

“I don’t know if I want to write anything. I don’t want that kind of responsibility.”

“I think I might ask out the girl that always comes into Wendy’s while I’m working. She’s a little heavy, but that’s ok.”

“Do you know what it feels like to say ‘There. That’s finished. It’s what I made.’?”

“I make cheeseburgers. I make them all the time. Maybe if she didn’t eat so many she would be thinner. But then she wouldn’t be around enough to ask out, either.”

“I’m going to go get high. Or sleep. Or something.”

“I thought you were.”

“High? Maybe. I’m not asleep. I’m talking to you.”

“Oh. Right. Whatever.”

Robert is offline.