I had tried three times to get out the door and each time had been rebuffed: (i) I could not find my keys (found them, then sat at the computer to check something); (ii) I couldn’t find my grocery list (found it, then sat at the computer to check something); (iii) and so on.
In Oedipal fashion, the keys and list were found to be located in various places upon my own person — front coat pocket, rear pant’s pocket– amid cries of “who has taken my keys?” etc. — and of course whatever I had checked on the computer suggested another thing that might or should be checked — and everything that I’d checked the last time, which had exhibited no change, would now need to be checked again, to see if they’d come to exhibit any change, and so on.
Finally I checked myself in the mirror and the first word that came to me was “Thick”. But I didn’t know what to think about “Thick.” Could one go out looking “thick”? One had certainly gone out looking worse than “thick” — and so one finally went out.
.i`` * ^ / . . . . . ` `~ 