Amiss

Jesus, did I do that?  I'm looking across the room where the sun shines brightly on the floor as it rises over my neighbor's house (the sun, not the floor).  There are crumbs of chocolate everywhere.  I follow the trail up to the table top.  It is littered, too.  I vaguely remember opening the brick of dark chocolate last night while sitting at the table writing an email on my laptop.  What a mess.  It looks like a pack of rats have been here.  How could that have happened?

It is simply the litter of a certain type of life, I guess, detritus of late nights that would be better spent in bed.

Christ, it is worse than I thought.  There are crumbs of chocolate trailing into the living room.  Somebody must have come in last night while I slept, some maniacal chocolate freak, a bandit or voyeur or miscreant of another sort.

Other strange things are happening, too.  My computer glasses are gone.  Yes, computer glasses.  They are not as strong as the reading glasses.  If you are working on your computer with your reading glasses, you are making a mistake.  They are too strong for that and you will keep leaning forward and hurt your neck.  Anyway, I wrote piece for the morning and had just finished when the house repairman showed up.  I got up and talked to him for awhile, then came back to the computer and couldn't find my glasses.  Odd, I thought.  I must have set them down elsewhere.  I have turned the house upside down looking for them.  Gone.  You tell me.

I know.  I'll quit.  Tonight.

Now I have to clean up the chocolate crumbs.  But I don't think I did that.  I don't think it could be done in a casual manner.  No, no, something is amiss.  There is a mystery here.