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Twelve and so 20. Twelve and so 20! Popeye and Greg House and William Burroughs!

This window cannot be washed. Not by me. I’d have to stand on the roof – the steep bit over the laundry room – and there’d be the screens and paper towels and “We have some sad news about your son, Mrs. Hamid.” But really I want to clean this window just like I cleaned out the closet near the stairs and it’s Astro’s room now.

There are spaces in this house I did not know were here, though some other little spaces, it is possible, have disappeared.

Six and so 2. Six and so 2!

I suppose this all ends when they ask me. When they come to me. When they need my superpowers. Everything gone awry and astray and then like Popeye with spinach, Doctor House with his Vicodin, Burroughs with heroin, the music shall rise and ta-da the hero is back with his powers. Superpowers.

Nineteen so 7. Nineteen so 7! If I sit on the sill, with one leg outside like this, no wait, listen, this makes sense, then I can reach several panes with little, or less, chance of a fall. But if this part is clean and that part, unreachable, over there, is still dirty, there exists a chance of the contrast making the dirt that much more obvious.

It’s a risk.

This is my first post in 19 days and this is not me coming back yet but it’s the longest I’ve been without posting in 7 years. Nineteen so 7.

And this is my sixth day without smoking and that’s the longest I’ve been without smoking in 2 years. Six and so 2.

And it’s my twelfth day without drinking and this is where it gets wild so pay attention and it’s the longest I’ve been without drinking since 1999. Twelve and so 20. Twelve and so 20! Which this is not to say I am quitting. This is an experiment. Understand. This is seeing what sobriety does to my head and anyway, they’re probably just going to come and need my superpowers like Popeye and Greg House and William Burroughs.  

Probably.

Right?