Keep the Harem beatific.

"What have you been doing for the past two weeks, Jake?"  The universe asks.

"Oh,"  I look away because, "I need to think about that.  I've been pretty busy.  It'd probably be easier to tell you what I haven't been doing."  I laugh.

"Hm, like not writing your blog."  The universe doesn't laugh.

I try to gather a ropy excuse from the heap of undocumented refuse that's filled in and filled out and filled up my mine-pit skull.  I don't do a good job.  I end up focusing on the stretchy sound that the universe's
eyebrow makes as the hair (and dark matter) rise up to make a '��'.

"I thought you were taking it seriously." The universe says, imitating anyone's disappointed mom -- with perfect pitch and tone.

"I was.  I am.  I just haven't felt inspired.  I've been busy."

"Doing what exactly?"

"Working at Path.  Studying Mandarin.  Composing for Generic Theater.  Herding ideas for stories and songs.  I'm not sure where they're all going but I guess I'm the person to take them there.  And then I just got back from Wisteria yesterday.  That's where the title of this post comes from.  It's the most in-in-inside joke I can think of right now."

"None of that inspires you?"  The universes tone softens.  It reminds me of my mother.  Specifically, it reminds me of a conversation I had with her (the topic of which escapes me currently).  At one particular point in that chat I perceived in my mother a shift in her perception of me, like she realized that qualities of her son were strangers to her.

I snap out of memory, inspired by the promise of justifying myself.  "Of course everything inspires me, that's why I do it all.  I can't 'be inspired' all day though.  If all I ever do is output, output, output, I'll end up with A, an empty well, and B, spiritual dehydration."  That's right.  Take that universe.

"Is writing a blog such a labor?"

"No.  But writing isn't natural for me.  Writing is toiling.  I have to grapple with ideas just to dissipate all the wordy fog.  Expression, while something I think I could do for a living, isn't easy for me."

"Of course not.  You're not alone in that.  After all, doesn't everyone struggle with it?"


"I'm sure they do.  I mean, I know they do.  But, sometimes it's hard for me to think about anything but how hard of a time I have trying to get everything I want done."

"Life isn't fair,"  Again the universe side-steps like a mime into my mother's robe and british accent.

"Thanks for the condescension."

"Jake, don't be childish."

"Don't be motherish then."

The universe reaches for something invisible.  A fridge manifests.  The universe pries the door from its spongy seal.  "Almond milk?  Orange slices?  Cat-shaped triple chocolate cupcakes?  I call them Choco Cup Cats."  The universe stares proudly at the four faces who stare back with pious chocolate-chip eyes.

I sigh and say, "You know I have no power against chocolate."  The universe tosses one my way.  Like a proper cat it lands right side up in my palm.  "Thanks."

The disembodied fluffy head tastes good.  But I can't help but feel as though I've just been goaded into sugar happiness.  

"It's not sugar.  I used agave."  The universe dunks its cake into a tall glass of almond milk, real nonchalant, as if it hadn't just read my thoughts and then corrected them.

"Where do you even get agave?"

"Whoa Socrates, slow down."

"What?"

"Exactly."

With the Cup Cat burrowing down my esophagus, I realize how thirsty it made me.  That glass of almond milk looks really good right about now.  So white and, presumably, cold and, presumably (because it is in the universe's fridge), unlimited.  Few things are better than the security of infinite almond milk.

I think for a minute of how to ask politely but not too politely.  "I'll, uh, take you up on that almond milk too."

The universe deposits the last coal-dark nugget of cake into its mouth and drains its own glass of almond milk.  "But you wanted a Choco Cup Cat.  So that's what you got."

Are you serious?  The universe can't be serious.  "Are you serious?"  I have to ask.

"I gave you the choice.  The almond milk would have hydrated you.  The orange would have..."

"Spare me.  Spare them.  I didn't think this was going to turn into a lecture about..."

"Having the cake and eating it too?"

So funny.  But no, universe, your deadpan delivery gets no laughs.  None.

"Reminders are so bad?"

"No.  Shitty jokes are.  You made those cupcakes just so you could get me with that joke."

"They are Cup Cats.  And yes.  But not totally.  I think I could retail them.  There's a lot of cat owners out there who'd love them."

"Great.  Cat owners can give themselves treats and confuse the hell out of their cats at the same time."

"I see, you're in no mood for brainstorming or constructive criticism."  The universe reaches up and pulls the string to the lightbulb that appears simultaneously.  The fridge vanishes, leaving behind a small nest of snakeish lint and shredded leaves.  How so much collected in the span of a couple minutes?  Not worth thinking about, I decide.

"Sorry.  There's never really an excuse for negativity.  I'm just decompressing a bit.  Trying to sort myself out."

"Like usual?"  The universe smiles.  It reminds me of my mother.  Specifically, that benign grin reminds me of all the times I ever got sick, or got my heart broken, or really achieved something, and my mother was there, caring, knowing everything about me.

"Yeah.  Like usual."  I say.  I feel acutely aware of my predictability.  No, there's a better word: reliability.

(Too much?  Probably.)

"You should get to bed."  The universe says.  "Busy day tomorrow."

I laugh a little.  Mostly, because I am so predictable.

The universe recombines as the space between my fingers and the keyboard and the space between my legs and the blanket and the space between my head and the pillow.  Then the universe becomes everything again.  Which it always was.  And I feel no need to explain further.

I'm still thirsty though.  So I falling-asleep-walk to the kitchen.  I open up the fridge, hoping that Liz and I didn't down the new Almond Breeze already.  A frosty glass of almond milk poses like Superman next to siamese-twin Cup Cats who smile up at me from the plate.  There's a note:

Good Cat.