Posted by misterwrite under Uncategorized | Tags : blues , Christmas , depression , holidays | [ 3 ] Comments Most of my adult life I 've experienced that down , mildly depressed feeling after Christmas - and I 've never really known why . Actually , I 've always been a little embarrassed about it , so I 've never talked about it much . Was I just hoping for more or better presents ? Am I that selfish ? Was I not recognizing the true meaning of Christmas ? I always THOUGHT I did . So why was this happening to me ? So a couple of weeks ago I decided to meet the question head on , with the full force of my intellectual powers ( no snickering ) . And it hit me in one of those " Duh ! " moments . The reason I feel blue after Christmas is because I like Christmas and now it 's over ! I love almost everything about the season - the decorations , the music , the general mood or spirit , the special church services , the feeling of anticipation . And once all of that ends , well , of COURSE I feel sad . I feel sad when a vacation ends , I feel sad when summer is over , I feel sad when I slide the last bite of French silk pie into my mouth . It 's normal ! Maybe that sounds pretty obvious to you , but it was a revelation to me . And once I acknowledged it , it freed me up to really enjoy Christmas this year like I never have before . 2008 will go down in my history as perhaps the best Christmas ever , and I can 't wait for next year to enjoy it all again . And a little frosting on the cake … Acknowledging the normal reality of post - Christmas blues has actually served to lessen them this year . I didn 't expect that , but I sure do welcome it . Posted by misterwrite under Uncategorized | Tags : Bible , Christmas , epistle , James , Jesus , nativity | Leave a Comment One more Christmas story . This one 's just under two pages . The Second Epistle of James , the Brother of Jesus I wasn 't there when Jesus was born ; he was my older brother - I came along almost two years later . Growing up , I heard the story of his birth over and over again - and then was told not to tell anyone . When I was very little it was awe - inspiring , when I became older … it grew tiresome . The tense part about all the inns being over - crowded , the odd part about shepherds guided there by angels , the surprising part about wise men from the east bearing gifts ; it became oft recited family lore - surely embellished over the years , surely changed and adjusted for maximum dramatic effect . But true ? Parts of it , undoubtedly , but other parts fairy tale and legend . Part of the reason the story became tiresome was because Jesus himself became tiresome . It was obvious that Father and Mother thought him special - not that they actually loved him more , but they definitely looked at him differently from the rest of us . And Jesus seemed to grow into that role . At times he was a wonderful playmate : laughing , running , sling shooting contests , sword - fighting with sticks . He cried when his thumb was inevitably struck - just like the rest of us . But there were other times - when our play crossed a line that Father and Mother possibly might not have approved - when he would suddenly look at me with the most irritating adult expression on his face . Very tiresome . Then as time went by , he became more serious , and in many ways it appeared he and I had less and less in common . I would sometimes catch him alone , staring off into the hills , totally transported to another place or time , often with a very sad look on his face . One time I remember quite clearly . It was right after his 15th birthday . It was a very starry night - like a million candles on a black cloth , and he was standing outside alone , crying . I asked him what was wrong , and at first he was quiet . Then he rubbed the tears off his cheeks and said , At the time it struck me as a very strange thing for a 15 year old to be thinking about . After our Father died , Jesus took over his carpentry work to provide for our family . My brothers and I helped some , but he was the one with the most talent and the strongest work ethic . I thought it was just because he was the oldest . As he grew older , I knew he would soon be taking a wife . I assumed we would help him build a home next to ours so he could continue working in our Father 's carpenter shop . But there was always a reason why the time wasn 't right , or why this girl wasn 't the one . One by one , we his siblings married , but he stayed home with our mother . Not long after this time began what we then called " the madness . " He left suddenly , and traveled south to a place along the Jordan River where a man called John had been preaching and baptizing . We heard that Jesus himself had been baptized , and then he just disappeared . He vanished like Enoch , and no one knew what had happened to him . He was gone for over a month . Then just as suddenly he reappeared - staggering out of the wilderness , thin as an olive branch . He began preaching repentance and collected a group of followers - simple uneducated men and many women . After years of devotion to our mother and to the carpentry work , it suddenly became unimportant to him . He never put his hands upon wood again , until … until that day . We tried to talk to him , reason with him ; he wouldn 't listen . We brought our Mother , to show him how worried she was . It had no affect on him . It angered me that he could be so callous and uncaring . " What 's happened to you ! ? " I exploded at him one day . " How can you just abandon your Mother , and your Father 's work ! ? " " I love Mother , James , " he said . " And I am doing my Father 's work . " " But you 're not ! That makes no sense ! " I shook my head . " No . You speak like a mad man . As far as I 'm concerned you have committed a grave sin by rejecting your family . " A few days after his death I began hearing bizarre rumors that he had come back to life . At first these stories came from a few of his closest disciples , but then the numbers began to increase . Soon dozens of his followers were telling our family that they had seen him , talked to him , and even touched him . That he was alive . My head was spinning that night as I sat outside my home and tried to understand what was happening . And then I turned and he was sitting next to me . And he smiled , and he spoke my name : " James . " It still takes my breath away to think of it . How does one go from Jesus the mad man to Jesus the Christ in one day ? He was asking a lot , but then he always did . And he still does . I 've often asked myself , what if I had somehow been there that night in the stable - witnessed his birth , the star , the shepherds , the wise men ? Would I have believed then ? And I have to answer , probably not . My stubborn , proud flesh would 've looked for reasons not to , for things to doubt . Because to believe means to humble myself , to surrender , to call my brother Lord . It took the events following his death to convince me of the truth of the events surrounding his birth . But I was , and I am , convinced . And so all my letters to other believers now carry this opening : From James , a servant of the Lord Jesus Christ . Michael Anderson Posted by misterwrite under Uncategorized | Tags : carols , Christmas , family , memories , music | [ 2 ] Comments Last week my wife and I went to hear a Christmas concert by The Empire Brass - 5 very talented gentleman playing two trumpets , a French horn , a trombone , and a tuba . We had to drive through fresh , slippery snow - and very heavy traffic - to get there . Because of that , we missed the first 3 or 4 pieces . The Empire Brass made it a lot of fun - very energetic , large doses of humor , Christmas Carol sing - alongs , etc . And to top it off , the drive home was quicker and safer ! The very next night I took my youngest daughter to see " White Christmas " on stage . It was a wonderful , old - fashioned , musical extravaganza - complete with big dance numbers ( even tap ) ! At the end , after they sang " White Christmas , " they made it snow in the theater - on the audience too , not just on the stage . It even melted ( which I 'm sure made the janitorial staff happy ; no muss , no fuss ) . From my youth : The whole family decorating the tree together while listening to our Mitch Miller Christmas Carol sing - along ( and singing along ! ) … Watching Mister Magoo 's Christmas Carol on TV … On Christmas morning my brother Ron was the " passer - outer " of the gifts … The cardboard Santa face that Mom always hung on the dining room mirror … Calling my best friend Jeff in the afternoon and asking , " What did ya get ? " … Mom 's voice on Christmas Eve , " Everybody stay in the TV room , I 'm wrapping presents . " … The pine smell from the wreath and tree … Ignoring the TV and sitting in the living room staring at the lit - up tree … Taking the bus downtown with my mom and walking from decorated store to decorated store … Apple juice and fresh blueberry muffins on the good china for Christmas breakfast … Singing carols around the piano … Lots of good food and lots of cookies ! ( I still love the cookies ) . Joseph was dying . He lay on a thin mat on the dirt floor , without moving . His body felt weak , and each breath was difficult . There was a soft stirring , and his 17 year old son slowly put his head into the room . Joseph gave a slight , negative shake of his head , but smiled thinly . " I won 't lie to you - you 'd know it if I did . Besides , you 're a young man now . " Still he hesitated before continuing . " I don 't have much time left , Jesus . I 'm sure of that . " Joseph 's eyes locked onto Jesus ' . " And yet this last week you haven 't put your hands upon me and prayed for my healing . You know too , don 't you , my son . " Joseph slowly raised his hand and Jesus held it . " It 's alright , Jesus . I understand ; you can 't say everything you know . But in this case , I know it too . And I know that you know . What you don 't say , says much . " " There 's no need to be sorry . Everyone dies . I was just hoping I 'd be able to see you come of age , see what God does with your life . That disappoints me . But it may be that I will still get to see you , from the grave . Who knows ? " They sat in silence for a time , gripping each other 's hand . Joseph closed his eyes and breathed deeply . Jesus might have thought he 'd fallen asleep , but for the continued squeezing of his hand . At last , with his eyes still closed , Joseph said , " It 's always felt strange hearing you call me your Father , when we both know I 'm not . " Jesus thought for a moment , then said , " We both have a Father in heaven , of course , but you HAVE been a father to me . It 's right for me to call you that . You 've loved me and taught me and provided for me . When I was small you protected me . " Joseph opened his eyes , but appeared to be looking at something Jesus did not see . " It 's never surprised me that Mary was chosen , " he said , " she 's so good and pure , the ' handmaid of the Lord , ' just as she has said . But me - why me ? Why was I chosen ? I 'm just an ordinary carpenter , from a poor , ordinary family . When God told me in a dream , just before you were born , that I was to raise you … , I was terrified ! How ! ? I 've asked Him many times - how can I raise Your son ? " Joseph shook his head , still in wonder after more than 17 years . " When you were very little , it seemed the Lord told me , ' Trust Me , and be you . ' Then Your son will be raised a carpenter , I said . Is that what You want ? ' That will be good , ' He told me . ' A man who creates with his hands , and then looks with satisfaction upon his work . ' I realized later , that is exactly what He did . " Jesus smiled . " It seems I take after both my Fathers , " he said . Then , after a pause , he added , " I think I know why you were chosen . You 're honest ; you always do your best - even on small , simple jobs ; you 're patient ; you taught me I must always have a plan before I start working , that using the right tools makes the job easier and makes what I 'm building turn out better . You always said a man works best when he works for God - not money . And you taught me that a son 's place is with his father . These are things that are true in all of life - not just carpentry . I think you were a good choice … , my father . " When he was able to speak again , Joseph continued , " I haven 't forgotten what today is , Jesus . The day of your birth . Seventeen years ago the three of us huddled in a stable . A stable ! I remember it like yesterday . You cried and ate and slept , cried and ate and slept , for 3 days straight ! " " Then when enough people left town , " Joseph said , " we could move into one of the inns . I had to earn our keep by fixing plows , and building doors and tables . " He shook his head , but smiled at the memory . Then his smile faded . " I 'm sorry we 're not having a proper celebration today , Jesus . You deserve better . " " No . No , it 's a special day . All of your birth days have been special . For your brothers and sisters , their birth days were full of happiness and celebration , but your birth day has always been different . Happiness and celebration , yes , of course ; but something more than that too . Something … important . Something mysterious , and holy . I don 't know the words . " Jesus grew somber and looked at the wall , but his eyes were not seeing it . " Each year , on the day of my birth , " he said , " I think of all the young boys in Bethlehem who died because of me - because Herod was looking for me . It seems sometimes like I was born for death . " He turned back to Joseph . " I can 't explain it to you , Father , but I know that some day I will be like them - I will die in place of others . " Joseph looked troubled , but said , " God has His plan , Jesus , and I do not possess the wisdom to see it . But I do know that you are His tool . He 's a good carpenter too , and He will do a good work . " He paused , then sighed . " I 'm sorry this isn 't a happier day , my son , but I want you to know that I have been celebrating your birth , even as I lie here . We have always celebrated it , your mother and me - even when there was no work , and very little food on the table . Even when your brother was very sick . It seemed to us that your birth mattered more than whatever was happening around us . Nothing was too bad to blot it out , nothing was so good that it overshadowed it . My sickness doesn 't take away from it , Jesus . Even my death cannot take away your birth . " " You honor me , Father , " Jesus said , bowing his head . " No , not just me . " Joseph spoke as strongly as his weakened body would let him . " Don 't you see ? There will always be people who will celebrate this day . The day you were born is a special day , and before too long many people will realize that . Many people … " His voice trailed off and he closed his eyes . " I must go now , Father , " Jesus whispered . " Mother told me not to stay long . " He quietly stood up and walked to the door . Just before he left the room , Joseph said weakly , " My son . " Posted by misterwrite under Uncategorized | Tags : bathroom , buildings , men 's room , work | [ 9 ] Comments A few weeks ago the building I work in had a problem with the heating on my floor ( 6th ) and the temperature shot up to 87 degrees . It stayed there for over a week . Late November , in the northern quadrant of the central United States , and we 're all wearing short sleeves , turning on fans , and mopping our perspiring foreheads . If you stayed away from the windows it was easy to imagine it was late July . Well , they " fixed " it . Now the temperature starts at 57 and occasionally tops out at 67 - on a really good day . This has been going on for two weeks . People sit at their computers wearing jackets and shivering . If you stay away from the windows it 's easy to imagine you 're in the Arctic Circle . The smokers look forward to going outside so they can warm up . If you read an earlier post of mine , you know this building has been sold and we are moving out Christmas Eve . I think we hurt its feelings , because it 's starting to act like a jilted spouse : Hell hath no fury like a building scorned . The drastic temperature swings were just the beginning ; recently lots of the sinks have started plugging up , and some of the automatic faucets have stopped automatically working . And - my personal favorite - the malfunctioning bathroom doors . I THOUGHT I was leaving the men 's room and going to lunch last week , but the building decided I should stay there a little bit longer . The men 's room door would not open and let me out . I tried it repeatedly , rattling it , pounding it , glaring at it angrily - nothing worked . Do you know how embarrassing it is to be trapped in a bathroom ? Get trapped in an elevator , an office , even a maintenance closet , and people feel sorry for you . Get trapped in a bathroom and they laugh . Try it sometime - you 'll see I 'm right . Yes , there are some definite advantages to it - especially if you 're in there for a longer period of time . But still … Someone eventually heard me and promised to get help . Right after they left the door suddenly worked and I escaped . It was as though the building was saying , " I didn 't really mean anything by it , I just want to be respected . " I haven 't gone to the bathroom since ; it 's just too traumatic . Ron sat at the red light , trying to make it turn green by muttering , " Come on , come on . " His fingers tapped the steering wheel with no apparent rhythm . He checked his watch again ; ten minutes to eight , and he still had at least a fifteen minute drive . This would make the fourth time in less than two weeks that he 'd be late for work . Green ! His foot crushed the pedal to the floor without mercy and his Toyota leaped forward . Thank God he was the first one in line . He sped two blocks to the 4 - way stop on Delaware , slowed , then made a sharp right turn and reattached his foot to the accelerator . Again his car obeyed him like a young filly on the home stretch . The speed limit here was 45 , which meant he could get away with 50 . It was rush hour , and traffic laws were for cowards and old men . Ron hugged Delaware 's curve to the left and then came very suddenly to the rear bumper of one of those old men . " No ! " he shouted as he hit the brakes . The green Saturn in front of him wasn 't even doing 40 , and Ron could see the wrinkled neck , white hair , and funny hat of an elderly man . " Come on , buddy ! " Ron said to his windshield . " This is rush hour ! You 're supposed to be rushing ! " But the old man , alone in his car , continued along at 37 miles per hour , and Ron was unable to pass due to the curves and the oncoming traffic . He decided to try his favorite ploy - tailgating . But the old man didn 't seem to notice ; he definitely didn 't speed up . He just stared straight ahead , both hands on the wheel , sitting erect . Ron sighed . The street straightened out . The " No Passing " zone ended . Ron edged over to his left and looked at the oncoming lane ; there were no cars . He hit his blinker , swerved over , and urged the Toyota forward . It roared past the Saturn . Inside it , the old man was startled . He hadn 't even noticed there was someone behind him . He slowed and moved over to the right , giving Ron the road . Then he glanced in his rearview mirror to see if there were any other surprises lurking behind him . There were none . The old man had a name - it was Warren , although he seldom heard it spoken out loud anymore . All the people who knew it where gone . His brothers and sister had all been dead for more than five years . John , his best friend for over six decades , died a little over 14 months ago . And Louise , his wife of over 60 years , breathed her last exactly 5 weeks ago that day . He had been sitting beside her bed , holding her hand , and he watched that last breath leave her frail body . He had been sitting there looking at her for some time , seeing so much more than everyone else . He could see an empty - nester , hair cropped short and graying , entering the workforce for the first time in her life - part time . To the nurses and the doctors she was an old woman with terminal cancer ; to Warren she was a life story - someone who made fantastic Thanksgiving dinners , who - in her fifties - failed her drivers test three times before finally passing , who once saved an 8 year old boy 's life with the Heimlich Maneuver . The hospital staff couldn 't see what he could see . When she died , they passed her body onto a mortician , stripped the linen , and got the room ready for someone else . They told Warren they were so sorry , and urged him to take care of himself . But Warren was like a bee caught outside the hive on a cold night , stunned and sluggish , helpless and lost . He knew with a horrible reality that the cliché was true - part of him had died with her . And now here he was on a Thursday morning , going to have breakfast at Margaret 's Kitchen , just like he and Louise always did . He was alone in the world , like the survivor of a shipwreck - sitting by himself in a bobbing lifeboat . He kept to their traditions . He didn 't know what else to do . Yes , he drove slow - his eyesight wasn 't as good as it used to be - but he was a safe driver . He stayed within the white lines , he read all the traffic signs , and he never sped . He knew he didn 't have the reflexes for it . Warren had one daughter - Susan - who lived a half hour away from him . His two sons both lived out of state . Susie had two teenage boys who kept her busy , plus a part time job , plus she and her husband were seeing a marriage counselor every week . But she still found time to call him almost daily , and help him with groceries , food preparation , and some housekeeping about once a week or so . His sons - Keith and Steve - each called him a couple of times a month , asked him how he was doing and talked about sports . Warren didn 't know it , but they each sent Susie some money now and then , so they could help out in some way . But for the most part , Warren was alone . And " alone " was no longer just a word to him . It lived , it breathed , it pulsated like a thumb struck by a hammer . It followed him wherever he went and perched on the back of his couch , waiting silently , like a vulture . A glance in the rearview mirror told him someone else was in a hurry to get somewhere . The woman 's face he saw was angry and irritated , resentful at being stuck behind an on old man . Warren pulled onto the shoulder and let her pass . He knew he was an old man . When he was younger and he saw the elderly , he wondered if they realized they were becoming elderly , or if it just snuck up on them one day and scared the daylights out of them . But he knew it . The mirror told him every day ; his body told him multiple times every day . And people younger than him told him constantly . Usually not with words , but with facial expressions , body language , and attitudes . Sometimes he would try and diffuse a situation . He 'd smile and say to a store clerk , " I 'm sorry , you 'll have to say that again . I 'm pretty old and I don 't hear so good . " Sometimes they cut him some slack , sometimes they seemed to blame him for being that age - as though he had done something wrong . Some days when he woke up , Warren felt like the last prisoner on death row - waiting for his execution date . He would lie in bed for awhile , trying to think of a reason to get up . Then he would hear Louise 's voice chiding him , " Don 't sleep your life away . " Usually his back ached , and his legs felt stiff . Sometimes he 'd get a sharp pain in a hip or a knee or a shoulder , sometimes in all of them at once . He 'd grunt or groan . " I got more crummy joints then New York city , " he 'd say . And Louise used to reply , " Don 't go looking for sympathy . You 're not the only old person in this house , you know . " Now there was only silence , and her side of the bed was empty . He would slowly push himself up to a standing position , pause again for a moment , then shuffle off to the bathroom , his legs and arms cracking and popping like the Fourth of July . It was another day , and it probably wouldn 't be any different from the one before it , or the one before that . Warren 's awareness slowly came back , and he realized he was still idling on the shoulder of the road . The woman who had passed him was long gone , and his stomach - which didn 't care how old he was - voiced its empty displeasure at breakfast being delayed . In the silence of his car he could hear it grumbling . When you 're alone , you hear more ; not that you really want to . You hear clocks ticking , your own breath whistling through your nose , laughter in the distance , the coffee maker gurgling , a car driving by , the refrigerator coming on . But oh how he wished he could once again hear a familiar voice call him , " Warren . " If she had just said milk and bread it would 've been easy . But she very specifically said , " Two half gallons of 2 % and one loaf of wheat bread . " It was the specificity that scared him - get it wrong and you 're the butt of jokes for days . " Honestly Marc , you 're worse than a kid . Why didn 't you just write it down ? " The last three words emphasized as though he were simple - minded . But Marc was pretty sure he had it right . Two 2 % 's - that was easy to remember . And half gallons . With his prizes in hand , Marc got in the checkout line . His watch told him he had just enough time to get home , change , and hustle over to Dillon 's soccer game . There was only one woman in front of him and she only had a few things . Tawnesha put her bag of apples , jug of milk , and box of cereal on the conveyor , and glanced absentmindedly at Marc . She sighed . The plastic gallon container seemed heavier than usual . Look at the bright side , Tawny , she said to herself . Maybe you 're getting more milk for your money . But she knew the reason . Four weeks of chemo and radiation can take a lot out of you . Her arms had no strength , and she was always tired . Getting out to buy some food had been a major undertaking ; she argued with herself that she wasn 't hungry anyway , so why get up off the couch ? But here she was . She had first made herself sit up . One step at a time , she thought . I can quit anytime I want . Then she got to her feet and walked into the kitchen , stopping to lean on the table for a few minutes . Fortunately her purse was on the counter and not in the bedroom . She snared the handle with her thumb , went to the door , and slid her feet into her sandals . She was out of her apartment and going down the stairs before she wondered how she looked . That made her pause for a moment , but the idea of going back upstairs , changing , and returning to this same spot , was too much for her . " Forget it , " she said out loud , and continued walking down the steps . Nobody gonna look at me anyway , she added silently . Tawny got in her car , sat down , and closed the door . She could 've remained there - staring at the dirty windshield - for a long time , but it was so hot inside . She sighed , started the engine , and drove off . She almost wished Rupert was still with her ; at least she might have been able to talk him into running an errand now and then , or putting some frozen food in the micro . But Rupert had left as soon as he found out about her and David . And David had left after he met Sheila . Now she was alone . Alone . Tawny had never realized before what a terrifying word that was . Nor what real loneliness was like . After Rupert left he hooked up with her best friend Shana and filed for divorce . After David left she was diagnosed with cancer , and wasn 't too interested in starting another relationship . Mom was a thousand miles away in a tiny apartment , drinking herself insane . She had no idea where her dad was . Her brother Michael was in prison , and her sister Chanelle somewhere in L . A . doing something that wasn 't totally legal . She had no children . She and Rupert were pregnant once , but he made her get an abortion . He thought a baby would slow them down too much . After that she wasn 't able to get pregnant again . Sometimes , in the middle of the night or late in the afternoon , when she was in bed or on the couch - feeling so sick and so tired , she wondered how - in a world with billions of people - she could be so completely alone . It was cancer of the pancreas . Inoperable . With aggressive treatment she might be able to live two years or so . The oncologist urged her to do it , since she was only 31 . Her hair was starting to fall out , and pounds of flesh were melting off her body - leaving her skin hanging loosely from her frame . She knew she looked terrible , but half the time she felt so lousy that she didn 't care . The other half she did care but didn 't have the energy to do anything about it . Tawny put the food in the bag , then put the bag in the cart . Carrying the bag out to the car herself seemed like an impossible task . It was easier to just push the cart . With the groceries on the seat beside her and the cart dutifully returned to the " cart corral , " Tawny sat behind the wheel and looked back at the store . She realized that the brief , somewhat impersonal exchange she just had with the cashier was the first conversation she 'd had with anyone in more than two days . It made her hungry for a little more . She drove back to her apartment and climbed the steps - one arm wrapped around her brown sack , the other gripping the railing . She could feel the cold gallon of milk against her forearm . The top of the steps provided a spot to stop and rest . She needed it . Tawny was hoping she 'd see a neighbor , someone she could say , " Hi , how you doin ' ? " to . But no one was in sight . Walking down the hallway on her floor , each numbered door had its own private world behind it . There was a couple arguing about money , a TV blaring an episode of " Seinfeld , " and the smooth saxophone of Kenny G . The one right next to hers had a small child whining about something . She put the key in the lock and opened her door . Stepping inside into an aching silence , she closed the door and leaned against it . The elevator doors opened and she crowded in with about six other people . She pressed her floor and sighed inwardly . Is there anything more depressing than Monday morning ? she wondered . She had no way of knowing that Scott , right behind her , had started his Monday by staring at himself in the mirror and saying , " If no one talks to me today I 'm going to kill myself . " She was 25 , slim and pretty , with an active social life . Scott was ten days away from 31 , overweight , receding hairline , and very shy . He had had one girlfriend , back in high school . It had lasted four months . Now the few friends that he had left in the area were married and having kids . Their lives were changing and his wasn 't changing along with them - which left him alone , and terrified that he always would be . The door opened on his floor and he got out . A few people said good morning to him , but that didn 't rescue him from his suicide pledge . He had meant more than people just saying hi , he meant a conversation , a real connection with someone else . His life consisted of " Morning Scott , " " Where you going for lunch ? " " See you tomorrow . " On Friday they always added , " Big weekend plans ? " A question he hated , since he never had any . Once , to his shock , a co - worker invited Scott to a party at his place on Saturday night . He said yes , tried to act casual , and got directions . He went out on Friday night and bought a new shirt . He had trouble sleeping that night , because he kept imagining conversations and trying to think of clever and cool things to say . By Saturday afternoon he was having second thoughts . What if no one else from work is there ? What if I make a fool of myself ? He tried on his new shirt again and looked in the mirror . The night before it had looked good , now he wondered if he looked pretentious - the fat loser trying to appear hip and worldly . By 6 PM he was feeling something close to terror . What if there 's nothing but sexy , experienced girls there ? I don 't know how to talk to them ; they 'll see right through me ! If they look at me at all . The host of the party didn 't even say anything about it back at work on Monday . It was as though he hadn 't noticed . Scott 's carefully thought - out excuses were unused and discarded , like unread newspaper articles shredded and sitting on the bottom of a birdcage . He slid into his cubicle and logged on to his computer . The planner on his desk told him there was a team meeting at nine . He could hear others around him talking and laughing about their weekend . " I did it , guys , " Tony announced . " I signed the papers and closed the deal . This is what I will be driving to work on Thursday . " He held up a glossy car brochure and soaked up everyone 's gasps . " Whoops , excuse me Dave , " she said with an artificial smile . He didn 't bother to correct her . She took a few sheets of paper off the printer tray , checked them to make sure they were hers , then walked quickly away . Scott was left standing in an invisible cloud of her perfume . " What I don 't like about Warner , " Tony said , " is after he let 's a couple of guys get on base , he falls apart . He can 't concentrate on the next batter . Give me Hernandez any day . He 's not flashy but he gets the job done . " " Yeah , but he loses as many as he wins , " Sean said . " He 's only got two pitches - a fastball and a curve , and if his team 's not hitting then he 's sunk . He can never win a pitcher 's dual . " He turned to look at Scott . " You like baseball , Scott ? " Sean said , " Hmm , " then he and Tony fell awkwardly silent . Scott realized he had blown it . It was baseball season , the local team was doing well , it was the topic of conversation , and he had just shut it down . He quickly tried to think of something to say . Way to go , Scott , he said to himself as he turned and walked out of the room . Someone finally does try to talk to you and you totally screw it up . What a dork . He drifted through the rest of the day , working on auto pilot , remembering his promise to himself from that morning . He already had it all planned out . The sleeping pills were easy . He 'd had a bad back for a few years , so all he had to do was tell his doctor he was having trouble sleeping and out came the prescription pad . He didn 't actually take any of the pills , and after a few months he got the prescription " refilled . " Now two full bottles sat in his medicine cabinet , just waiting for him . He would put on some music he liked , take the pills with some wine , and go to sleep . It was so easy . At four thirty Scott printed out some spreadsheets for a project he had been working on . He placed them on his desk and wrote a note explaining what was left to do . Next to his keyboard he left another note with all of his passwords , so access to his computer wouldn 't be difficult . Then he got up , pushed his chair in , and walked away . No last look around . On the way home he glanced at the gas gauge . It was under a quarter of a tank . I should fill up , he thought absentmindedly . Then he remembered , and smiled . He parked in his lot and walked through the front door of his apartment building . He started to bypass the mailboxes , then changed his mind and stopped to pick up whatever he had . Bills and junk mail .