Musette is asleep in bed with the baby even though they told us never to do that because parents really do roll over on their babies, said the pediatrician. The thing that you’re supposed to do is have babies sleep on their back, swaddled. Who is a fan of that though? It’s supposed to make them feel more like they’re back in the womb, the place that they just spent nine months and a few hard hours of labor trying to get out of. This is the way that dad is.This is what you came in looking for and got. This is the source of the voice that came through the walls of that womb. You’re in my world now, but this isn’t my world, this is The Lord’s world. We are pawns, and I’m trying to take control of an upcoming reality because at the moment my OCD has it, dangling a huge box of k-cups in front of my face that we had bought from a horribly stinky walmart aisle. I told Musette that I was considering throwing the k-cups out because of the scent, but it can be difficult determining where the OCD’s power truly lies, and I know that this is a challenge, and that the monster is holding the coffee over my baby, and what choice have I got but to confront this beast again, here for another prize, another risk, another person’s life weighing so heavily on my own.

The dread you feel will be more real. The neck cranking back too far. Warts running down the throat. I can hear it from out here. Outside. In the parking lot. It is everywhere. The elevator raises me back up into the ship, my unit, argument with my wife and child. Someone is coming out as I am going in, and the elevator smells like tacos. Homemade tacos. Prepackaged sleeps. Our unit smells like baby poop. There are so many books that I should read. I am the agent out here in Theoubtainois City, tying flies within my Western blue Hawaiian. A dad.


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