i was lying on the bottom bunk in my room with one hand behind my head, the other holding a popcycle. it was fat free, sugar free, sweetened with aspartame, had orange on the outside and “ice cream” in the middle. phoebe was beside me, leaning on my leg. i ate my popcycle. i offered her a taste several times, let her sniff and reject the artificial orangey goodness. phoebs doesn’t normally like poeple food anyway. it was my popcycle, and i ate it. i was trying to compose in my head a reponse to a recent post on the gimp’s blog, the one about his inability to fall asleep at night. i watched my left nipple contract cause of the cold. there was no more orange left, only “ice cream” and phoebe decided she actually wanted to try it. she did, and she liked it. i let her have the rest, no popcycle in the world can give me as much joy as i get from watching my cat eat. i was writing and re-writing in my mind, smiling at phoebe and scratching her neck. i came up with the perfect response:

alex, go to hell.