We spent the evening watching cop shows on television. If it had been a different night, we could have watched doctor shows instead. “You notice how there are no shows about landscapers or those guys that you see in cherry pickers? Why is that?”
“Those people aren’t interesting,” I said.
“They might find themselves interesting.”
“They’re the ones watching these shows about doctors and lawyers and cops and robbers. They get to spend the day watching the single episode of their own television show.”
And so I think of my own job and the everydayness of it. That is, I go there every day, I see the same people every day, I do the same things every day. And I wonder if maybe my show was canceled early and I’ve just been on a single episode repeated endlessly.
“They have shows about housewives.”
“But not about them being housewives.” I got up and went to the kitchen. I got a beer from the fridge. I noticed the cheese and decided to have some on crackers.
“You’re just bitter because you’re so dull,” she said from the other room. “And you watch these things.”
“I’ve become a creature of habit over the years,” I sat down with my plate. Something was missing. “I do the things I do because I’ve been doing them for so long.” I realized the beer was still in the kitchen.
“Can you get me some water? I’m getting a headache?”
“Sure.” I got the beer and a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Life is simple if you make it simple,” she said. “You can change things if you want.”
I sat on the couch. I put the plate of crackers and cheese on my lap. I picked up the can of beer and took a sip. I could feel the arrangement of the room, of the house, of life. It didn’t extend past the walls at the moment. I could not feel the world outside – certainly not as an unknown. The world outside was a transient fiction. Reality is comforting.
“What’s on now?”