I don't want to leave my house but I don't know what to do with myself when I'm in it. I reread books and then I like my books more and then I feel less compelled to leave my house to make friends. I eat only chocolate; my supply will last a month if I eat just two meals a day.
When the bank representative comes I don't tell him that I didn't pay last month's rent because I knew the landlord was about to lose the house. The bank guy admires my garden. I don't tell him he's looking at my rent money. The bank guy tells me he's going to put down sod on the scummy part of the front yard. He asks me if I'm home every day because the sod needs daily water.
I tell him I'll try to fit it into my schedule.
I think of ways to kill the sod because I don't want the new landlord thinking this place is so great that he can raise the rent.
In the morning, when the Jaguar-driving bank guy passes by, I water the sod. During the day I dissolve rose fertilizer in vinegar, then mix it with water and boil it. At night, I sprinkle it on the sod.
Sometimes I field phone calls. If I know it's Tano, I pick up. I try to pick up all the time because I am looking for a job. But I don't pick up when I'm sure that whoever is calling would want me to leave my house.
The bank guy calls and I don't pick up, so he is surprised to see me watering the sod. I invite him into my house because I think I look very good against the backdrop of my books. As soon as he steps inside I can tell he's snooping and I worry that my house looks too clean, so I take off my sweatshirt and toss it on the living room floor.
When he leaves, I fold the sweatshirt and sweep the living room. I get so much dirt in my pile that I sweep the kitchen and bedroom. I wish for more rooms. But I think if I had too many rooms in my house I wouldn't want to leave my bedroom and then I'd have to keep my chocolate in my bedroom where it would melt and then I'd be trapped in messiness.
Just the thought makes me tired and I hate sleeping during the day because it's like not being home.
Tano comes by after work. I said I'd spend the night at his house, but I'm sick of driving, so he picks me up. I dump all my change into a plastic bag because I don't think adults should go places without money, but I hope I don't need to spend it, because this is all I have.
Tano says, "Don't you have a purse of something?" He says, "Carrying around a plastic bag full of change is so eccentric."
I put the change in my pockets and walk around awkwardly so I won't jingle too much.
As soon as we get to his apartment I crawl into his bed.
"Rough day?" he says.
"No," I say. Then I shut my eyes.
Tano leaves before I pull myself out of bed. I look at the clock hoping it's already time for him to come home. I could spend the whole day waiting for him. Then I'd have something to do.
I bring the phone to bed with me and when I can't sleep and I can't masturbate, I check my messages. I check my messages a lot because most of my sure-fire fantasies only work if I'm in a good mood. If I'm in a bad mood, the man who pays me a million dollars to be his sex slave is a cheapskate. If I'm in a bad mood, the woman who is supposed to be having a threesome with me and Tano, but really just wants me, isn't very pretty, or she is pretty but she can't get a real job.
When Tano gets home he asks me if I'm sad.
He takes off his clothes and crawls under the covers. He pulls me close to him so that my body wraps around his. He puts his hand on the back of my head and leads it into the crook of his neck. "What do you want?" he says.
I think: I want to wear makeup without looking fake. I want my garden to get afternoon sun. I want to like food without added salt. I should want to go to work every day.
"Lie here," I say.
"For a little," he says.
"All night," I say.
"I have errands," he says.
So I give him a blow job, and then he holds me tight, like he has nothing to do in the whole world but express gratefulness.
He says he's lucky. Then he says, "I see no signs of depression."