Violet
Jeremy Freese
anxiety college cover art distractions friendly parser gender choice humor IF Competition 2008 IFComp Game IFComp Winner Miss Congeniality Winner NPC parser on Jay Is Games procrastination queerness sexuality choice single room slice of life strong NPCs walkthrough writer protagonist writing process Xyzzy Awards 2008 XYZZY Best Game XYZZY Best Individual NPC XYZZY Best Individual Puzzle XYZZY Best Writing
Calm down. All you have to do is write a thousand words and everything will be fine. And you have all day, except it's already noon.
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Calm down. All you have to do is write a thousand words and everything will be fine. And you have all day, except it's already noon.

You told me you were making progress. Then I find out you haven't finished a paragraph in five months. What did you expect?

So now here you are, up in your office. I am sorry that today is a Saturday. I am especially sorry that today is your thirtieth birthday. We had all kinds of adventures planned. I refuse to feel guilty.

Of course I am still upset. I will try to set that aside and be encouraging. I really do want you to succeed today.

Please just write.
You look around
When Wisconsin was recruiting your advisor they promised her space for graduate students. You're in a decrepit building but otherwise it's not bad.

You've a great big desk in front of a window, a resplendent yellow chair, a cabinet in one corner, a giant cactus in another, and a tall bookcase on the back wall with an incredibly cute stool in front of it. The door is west.
You check your inventory
You're carrying nothing.

You've a tattoo on the back of your hand.
You examine the tattoo
"Tattoo" isn't right. You scrawled "TYVTWD" on the back of your hand before leaving this morning. It stands for Take Your Violet To Work Day. This is your plan: you are going to get through today by pretending I'm here with you.

Just so we're clear: you are actually alone, and presumably I am back at our apartment, packing and crying.

Somebody is coming up the stairs. I thought you said no one ever comes in on the weekend?
Rub tattoo
I feel a bit like you are just trying random things as a way of procrastinating.

Please. Just WRITE.
You sit on the stool
There is no reason to sit on the stool. Stand on it if you need to reach something. (And sit on your comfy yellow chair if you want to write.)
You sit on the chair
Okay. You are seated at your desk and ready to go. Just write!

Two voices in the hallway: a man and Julia. Julia hasn't been in her office in weeks. She shows up on a Saturday?
You examine computer
The desktop PC is old but perfectly fine for writing. In addition to your word processor, applications you can OPEN include a browser, chat and e-mail.

The computer has a USB port in the front and is connected to the Internet with a cable in back.
You examine the desk
Of course the big oak desk is unusually posh for a graduate student office. It belonged to a professor who had a stroke at his computer and none of the other faculty wanted a desk on which once rested the head of a dead colleague.

On top of the desk are your computer, my itinerary, a framed darling and a pile you cannot even contemplate right now.

The desk's drawer is closed. A wastebasket is on the floor to the left.
You examine framed darling
Why you chose this photo of me, I don't know. It's from a party last summer. I've an enormous foam lobster on my head and whipped cream all over my right cheek. I'm smiling manically and look like I may be so tipsy that I don't know what continent I'm on.

Permit me two moments of immodesty:

1. Even in a picture where I'm not at my best, I am still clearly worth a thousand words.

2. The frame itself is very cleverly done.
You open the word processor
Open. Chapter 3 of your dissertation awaits. You can do it!

Julia is here to sabotage you. I'm sure of it. She's in her office across the hall now, talking loudly with her door open.
You examine the door
(standing up first)
It's a plain white wooden door. On the other side is distraction and ruin. Abandon hope, all ye who exit.

On the wall beside the door is the lightswitch. Above the door is a vent.
You write
(first sitting on chair)
You start trying to focus on the screen and type, but you are very tired. I realise that you hardly slept last night between being all worked up from our fight and then being banished to the dodgy futon in our living room.

Still. I know you won't let a little grogginess stop you. You are determined. For us!
You look at the itinerary
A printout of an airline receipt for a certain Ms. Violet C., for a flight from Madison to Chicago to Los Angeles to Auckland to Melbourne. One-way, refundable. Departing early tomorrow morning.

I hate that I've given you an ultimatum. But I don't feel like I've any choice.

The dude with Julia sounds like the one she was flirting with at Lucy's party. Remember? He was scrawny and said his parents owned a hotel in Milwaukee called "The Historic Pfister."
You write
You are trying, I can tell. But each time you begin to think through the opening sentence you get this dull cloudy tired pain right behind your eyes.

Okay. You want to write. You just need to get yourself more awake first.
You stand
You stand.

I don't know why I confided in Lucy about our problems. I should have known she would tell Julia.
You find the coffee
If you'd wanted coffee, you really ought to have stopped at Java Squid on the drive here.
You go to the west
You need to write. Your computer is here.

(Besides, your office door is closed. Might I add: for a reason.)
You look
Many graduate students would be jealous of your having a door that you can close, high ceilings, and, most glamorous of all, a window. You also have a huge desk, a gorgeous yellow chair, a cabinet, an admittedly incongruous cactus, a tall bookcase, and an incredibly cute stool.

On the desk are your computer, my itinerary, a cleverly framed picture and a pile you cannot even contemplate. A wastebasket is on the floor.

You look out the window for a moment, at the wonderfully serene park across the street. We could be frolicking right now. We could be canoodling in the shrubbery. Please just write.
You touch the cactus
Eek! No. Do you remember how last month you spent an entire afternoon whinging because you had a splinter?
You open the drawer
You open the drawer and there's a shiny little key and your notebook.

Although you write on your computer, you still like to keep a pen and notebook handy because it sometimes helps to work out more complicated sentences in longhand before typing them in. You've several pens in your bag.

Hey, wallaroo: where's your bag?
You examine bag
I don't see it here. Where is it?

Ugh. You were so distracted this morning that you left your bag back at our apartment. I am a gentle girlfriend and will refrain from marvelling at how it's past noon and you are only realising this now.

You cannot go get your bag. You know you are doomed to an afternoon of meandering distraction if you leave this office.
You examine the key
I believe it's the key to the cabinet.

You are distracted by Julia laughing inauthentically and telling Historic Pfister "You are so clever."
You take all from the drawer
One thing at a time today, dundeecake.
You take the key
Yours, vegemite.
You take the notebook
Yours, lorikeet.
You look at it
It's a smallish notebook, about 10x15 centimetres. The cover is lenticular. From this angle, it's a drawing of the comic book hero Professor Detective telling one of his graduate students, "You carry the heaviest of all burdens: POTENTIAL."

Several pages inside the notebook have writing on them.

You're looking out the window again. Today in the park, a laughing couple that could have been us toss a frisbee back and forth, and an older gentleman is walking his malamute.
You read the notebook
The first page with writing has a sentence ending with the word "gaps." You've crossed this out and rewritten it with "lacunae" instead. That you crossed out and tried "interstices." You crossed that out in favour of "interstitial lacunae," but then that has several lines through it and a little drawing of me saying "Quit being pretentious."
You unlock the cabinet with key
You unlock the cabinet, glancing briefly at the trophy on top as you do.
You examine trophy
You trained for months and had to run the entire race in the rain. A chintzy little medal after all that? You deserve better! So afterwards I took the big sign I'd held up for you and spent two days folding it into a proper trophy.
You open the cabinet
Last night, near the very end:
"I want you to have your birthday present regardless."
"Violet, I'll write the thousand words."
"I planned a treasure hunt for you. I wrote clues! It was going to end in your office."
"I am going to write tomorrow. I promise."
"Look in that cabinet you never use. You'll like how I wrapped it."

You open the cabinet, revealing a very odd balloon and a plastic bottle filled with a fluorescent pink liquid.
You look at balloon
It's about 25 centimetres across, milky white rubber decorated with purple ink swirls. A strange furry thing is inside, its three long legs pressing against the sides. At the bottom of the balloon is a bright yellow tab on which I've written "Pull me!"

You are distracted by Julia talking about her abs.
You look at the bottle
The bottle is dusty. Is this even yours, or is it left over from Marty?

The label has several large characters of what looks like a cross of Chinese, Cyrillic, and cuneiform. Small type beneath says  "Divine Soda Mega Energy". The label also has a drawing of a devil poking a man in the [bother]* with an electrified pitchfork. The man's eyes bulge and his mouth rounds into a scream.

The bottle is filled with a fluorescent pink liquid.

You start looking toward the door with an irksome dreaminess. Whatever else about Julia, the woman knows how to choose perfume. Of course, I'm not sure how much she's poured on herself that you can smell it this far away.

(BTW: I've decided I'm just going to "*" whenever I have an aside. ASIDE or * and I'll tell you.)
You examine bottle
The only part of the label in English says "Divine Soda Mega Energy." The bottle is filled with a fluorescent pink liquid.
You take the bottle
Yours, muttonplum.

You look toward the door: the perfume again. I agree that it's really appealing. But, still, this is Julia!*
Aside
Remember when you first asked me out? I said, "You already have a girlfriend."
"I wouldn't if I had known I was going to meet you."
"How charming. Will you say the same thing to the woman you dump me for?"
"Julia and I aren't serious. She doesn't even care about me. I'm the respectable diversion after the mess with the emeritus history professor leaving his wife. The only reason she'd be upset is she's proud of her streak where no man has ever broken up with her."
Smell the perfume
It's annoying how smitten you seem to be with Julia's perfume. I'm not going to indulge you by describing its appeals in detail.
You open the bottle
It's open.

You're looking out the window again. A blond-haired father and even-blonder son are walking into the park from the east, and entering your view from the west is a zombie.
You drink liquid
Holy [bother] is that strong! You feel like your brain is now a giant sparkler. You feel invincible. You feel like buying a circus. You feel like moving to South America and starting a revolution.

Dissertation? You feel like writing a trilogy. And an opera. You feel like fathering roomfuls of monkeys to type randomly until they write your dissertation for you.

Whatever else, you're now plenty alert. (I'm e-mailing Marty to find out where I can get some of that.)
You write
(first sitting on chair)
Completely, unblinkingly alert, you start thinking again about the first sentence. "Previous scholarship has typically conceptualized..." Six seconds later you check your e-mail. You switch back to your word processor for a bit, but then you start reading some blogs. You check your e-mail again. Then back to blogs.

I suspect this is much of how the past several months in your office have gone.
You write
You start again. Except you immediately check your e-mail. Then you read some web comics. Then a few of your favourite Professor Detective fanblogs.

Please, gumnut. You need to focus.

You are distracted by Julia saying especially loudly "...You could use mine to calculate pi..."*
You focus
For me, honestly, it's as simple as that. For you, it's more difficult. You are still wonderful.
Aside
Remember the story about how when Julia was in college, she told two math guys she'd hook up with whichever one memorised pi to the most places? She made them stand on chairs at a party, alternating digits until one of them missed. She claims it went on for two hours.

Then she didn't even go home with the winner! Instead there was a Russian computer scientist who claimed he could spontaneously generate truly random digits. She said, "Prove it!" He said, "Four!" And she swooned and pulled him into a bathroom.

I cannot believe she told you that story and you continued dating her.
You scream at Julia
That is what Julia wants. She wants you to engage her. She wants you to argue with her because she knows it will get you wound up and then you won't be able to concentrate the rest of the day. You must ignore her.
Kiss photo
You can only do that to something animate.
You examine the frame
I took the concert flier from our first "date" and made it into a hard plastic laminate--you know, like a Shrinky Dink. I made a clear plastic sheet the same size to go over the front of the photograph. Then I fused a sturdy binder clip to the two pieces to hold everything in place.

You are thinking about your bag. Sure, it's unfortunate, but there's nothing you can do. So just forget about it.
You examine the window
(standing up first)
Your window is immediately behind your desk, about two metres high and one wide. It has an old grey blind, which is raised.

On the sill I am a bit surprised to see a lighter.

You look out the window. The zombie in the park is dressed like an investment banker, but you recognise him as a zombie because of the pasty skin, blood dripping from his mouth, and lurching gait. He pauses to look at his watch.
You take lighter
Yours, sticky pudding. It's hard for me to be enthusiastic about lighters as a woman who owns her own blowtorch.
Lower blind
You pull the cord and nothing happens. You complained to me about this weeks ago and I explained what the problem likely was and how to fix it. Remember?

You are distracted by Julia going on loudly about how you get a discount if you get both tongue piercings at the same time.
You look at the cord
It's a plain white cord, easily tangled.
You pull the cord
You pull the cord again and nothing happens. I think you'll have to get on your desk and look at the blind to figure out what's wrong.
You stand on stool
The stool creaks as you climb onto it.

You're looking out the window again. A second zombie enters the park from the east, holding a sign. The first zombie looks relieved.
You look at the blind
(first getting off the stool)
I wish the blind was more colourful. It's raised. There's a cord.

I don't think you're going to be able to figure out what the problem is with the blind from down here. You'll have to get onto the desk.
You read the sign
You know those hipsters-dressed-up-as-zombies, they're always agitating about something.

You are distracted by Julia talking about her [bother]. I can't believe you dated someone so crass.
You stand on the desk
You climb onto your desk. Be careful, fruit cup.
You look at the blind
You can see what's wrong with the blind now. The little whatever is stuck.*  This is easy: you can just FIX it.
Aside
Actual-Me of course knows precisely what the whatever is called. I used the right term when I explained the workings of your blind to you at length on that napkin at WinkyDog. Imaginary-Me is using "whatever" because you don't remember.
You fix the blind
You squint at the whatever for awhile and fiddle. Squint, fiddle, still stuck. I think when I said you could easily fix it what I really meant was that, if I were there, I could easily fix it.

Squint, fiddle, SNAP. You did it! Or, wait, maybe you broke it.

Looking closer, you've definitely broken the whatever. Perhaps you've also fixed it. I can't tell.

Your eyes go all dreamy again as the latest waft of Julia's perfume induces another galling little reverie. Ugh. You have to snap out of this.
You look at the blind
The blind is raised.
You pull the cord
You pull the cord and the blind lowers halfway, then stops.
You keep going
You raise the blind.

You're looking out the window again. The sign held by the zombie says "Zombies Was People Too". Another pair of people dressed up as zombies enter the park. One holds a sign saying "Undead and Proud!"
You pull blind
(presuming you want to pull the cord)
You pull the cord and the blind lowers halfway again. That's all the lower it's going now that you've broken the whatever. Ugh.
You stand
I'm confused. You're presently standing on the floor of your office.
You examine whatever
It's broken now.

You are distracted by Julia saying especially loudly, "Impressive, huh? When I was in high school my guidance counsellor recommended that I become a contortionist."
You take whatever
That seems to be a part of the blind.
You write
(first sitting on chair)
(getting off the desk first)
You look at the blank screen for a few moments and then check your e-mail. You hit refresh just in case someone has e-mailed in the last four seconds. Now you are looking at procrastination self-help websites. I am trying to remain calm.
You write
No pretence, even: you start checking e-mail immediately. Now you are watching some random online food safety videos. We need to face the fact that you must somehow force yourself to be offline before you'll get any writing accomplished.

You are thinking about your bag again. "Why am I always so forgetful?" you say aloud. "Why am always I so disorganized?" Lorikeet, dwelling on it won't help. "I know!" you exclaim. "Why do I always dwell on everything?"
You examine computer
The PC is old but fine. Applications include a word processor, browser, chat, and e-mail.

The computer has a USB port in the front and is connected to the Internet with a cable in back.
You unplug the cable
You unplug the ethernet cable. Good! It has to be easier to write if you can't chat, check e-mail, and surf the web whenever you want.
You write
You resume thinking about the first sentence. You fidget. Your hands tremble a bit. You want to check your e-mail. You want to read blogs. And then: you retrieve the cable and plug it back into the computer.

Ugh. I didn't know it was this bad, spongemuffin. I don't know what to say.

You are distracted by Julia saying especially loudly, "It's not so much that I'm double jointed as just very determined."
You unplug the cable
Done, weet-bix. You're now holding the ethernet cable.
You open the window
(standing up first)
For a graduate student like yourself, having an office with a window and a great view is almost too much to hope for. A window that actually opens is, in fact, too much to hope for.
You break the window
It's hard for me to see what purpose breaking your window would serve. More importantly, someone would almost certainly see and call campus security, and that will introduce new hassles to your afternoon and prevent you from getting any writing done.

You're looking out the window again. There are maybe a dozen zombies in the park now, lurching and milling about. Two unfurl a blood-spattered banner that says, "What do we want? Brains! When do we want them? Brains!"
You eat the cable
I'm confused. That's not something you can eat.
You look at it
I don't know why they've used a 50 foot ethernet cable when it's less than three feet from your computer to the jack. Much of the cable is dirty from all the dust and whatever else has collected underneath your desk.

You are distracted by Julia saying especially loudly, "Sure, she's cute. If you can get past the mole."

Hey! Watch it, Julia.
You put the cable in the wastebasket
You put the blue ethernet cable into the wastebasket.
You write
(first sitting on chair)
You try again. Two minutes later you take the cable and plug it back into the computer. You start idly googlestalking friends from primary school.

Okay. We are not going to to be able to work out your "internet addiction" issues today, lemon squidgie. We need to figure out a way forward anyway.
You take the cable
Done, berry smush. You're now holding the ethernet cable.

Meanwhile, it has become officially disconcerting just how much you're distracted by Julia's strumpy perfume.
You take the balloon
(standing up first)
Yours, pollywaffle.
You look in the cabinet'
On the cabinet's top is a spectacularly intricate origami trophy.

You're looking out the window again. The zombie march has attracted counter-protesters. One of them is an older man in overalls who is holding an American flag in one hand and a sign saying "These colors don't lurch" in the other.
You open the cabinet
That's already open.
You put the cable in it
You put the blue ethernet cable into the cabinet.
You close it
That's not something you can close.

You are distracted by Julia saying "She makes things that look like summer camp crafts and tries to convince people they're art."

I wonder if I'd get away with it if I killed her right before my flight leaves tomorrow morning.
Close cabinet
You close the cabinet.
You lock the cabinet with the key
You lock the cabinet. Clever little wallaroo.
You examine it
It's University Drab, about a metre high with a silly fake wood front. It's closed and locked.

On top of the cabinet is the opposite of drab: a stupendously intricate origami trophy.

You are thinking about your bag again. Honestly, you probably don't even really need a pen, except now you're obsessing about how you'd have a pen if only you hadn't forgotten your bag.
You put the key in the vent
Why would you think you can reach the vent from here?
You stand on the stool
The stool creaks again as you climb onto it.
You put the key in the vent
Why would you think you can reach the vent from here?

You are distracted by Julia loudly saying "I bet when they first hooked up, she was like, 'Would you like to see my didgeridoo?'" (That has to be the most gallingly inept fake Australian accent I have ever heard. She sounds like a Norwegian parakeet.)
Examine vent
(first getting off the stool)
It's an ordinary vent with a metal grill.

A purplish bit of something is under the right bottom corner of the vent. You can't see what it is from down here.
You look at the purplish
You can't really make out what the purplish bit is from down here. You'd need to move something over to the door that you can stand on.
You move the stool to the door
The stool is now by the door.

You're looking out the window again. A wood-panelled van pulls up on the street in front of the park. "Wood-panelled" doesn't perhaps describe it right, as it's more like someone put wood veneer around the entire frame of the van, to make it look like a ship or something.
You stand on the stool
The stool creaks once again as you climb onto it.
You examine purplish
It's some thread. But, like I said, nutter butter, it's stuck in the corner of the vent above you. If you want to get a good look at it, take it first.
You take it
Yours, cuttlefish.

You are distracted by Julia laughing and mock-shrieking "Or maybe, 'Touch my kiwi! Touch my kiwi!'" Ugh. How can someone almost have her Ph.D. and not know that kiwis are New Zealand, not Australia?
You examine thread
It's perhaps ten centimetres long. I adore lilac! I've a jumper this colour (I mean, a sweater--such a quirky word.)
You look at the vent
The vent has a square metal grill. You try to look into the vent but it's dark and you are still maybe 30 centimetres or more below it. You won't be able to see into the vent from here.
You open the vent
I'm sure one day you'll have an office with a window you can open and a vent you can close. But not while you're a graduate student.

You have another incredibly annoying swoony moment because of Julia's perfume.
You examine the grill
It's just a metal grid. It's not the kind you can open or close.
You break the grill
You are trying to break random things as a way of procrastinating.

You're looking out the window again. The back door of the van opens and ten pirates storm out of the back, swords raised.
You stand
You are already on the stool.
You eat the key
It looks so easy in movies! You put it in your mouth and will yourself to swallow hard. But when the key is at the top of your throat, some primordial terror reflex kicks in and you cough the key back into your hand.
You look around
Bear in mind that, meanwhile, I'm using the walk-in closet of our apartment as a "studio."

You've a quite large desk in front of a window, a resplendent yellow chair, a cabinet in one corner, an absurdly large cactus in another, and a tall bookcase on the back wall with an incredibly cute stool.
The door is west.

On the desk are your computer, my itinerary, a cleverly framed picture and a pile you cannot even contemplate. A miraculously intricate origami trophy sits on top of the cabinet. A wastebasket is on the floor.

You are distracted by Julia saying especially loudly, "You've been working out. I've noticed."

Oh no.
You examine the bookcase
(first getting off the stool)
Two weeks ago:
"Violet. Take this. Do not give it back to me for a month."
"Is this your car key?"
"Just the trunk. The boot. I put all the books from my office in there."
"You said you just needed to read one more book and then you were ready to write."
"And you pointed out that I've said that several times before. You're right. I've read enough. I just need to get what's in my head onto the computer."

Of course I'm so used to seeing your bookcase full that it's strange now to see it nearly empty.

On the second shelf is a book. On the bottom shelf is a smartly-done snowglobe.
You look behind bookcase
Nothing. I'm not sure what you were expecting.
You put the key behind it
The bookcase is bolted firmly to the wall.

Your attention wanders as you start admonishing yourself again for forgetting your bag. Oh, sweateroo. Your gaze upward in self-loathing, whereupon you are suddenly distracted by something odd about the sprinkler in the corner above the cactus.
You look at the sprinkler
Remember? Last October:
"Hey, wallaroo, why is there a pen between the sprinkler and the ceiling?"
"It's been there since I moved in."
"How could somebody even wedge a pen up in there like that?"
"It's even more mysterious considering that the previous occupant of this office was a dwarf."
"Marty! He was hilarious! Remember the prank with the disappearing ink toner cartridge?"
"That was mostly you, dear. All Marty did was slip it in Julia's printer before her big presentation."
Examine book
This is the latest "last book you really must read before you are able to write your dissertation without a nagging feeling that there is one more book you really must read." If you start reading it now, hours will go by, and you won't write your thousand words.
You examine the snowglobe
It's a glass globe with a plain wooden bottom. Inside is a happy winter scene, with a paunchy, smiling figurine in a white outfit and snow up to his ankles. His hands look like they are covered with chocolate.

(BTW: you know full well that Marty is not a dwarf. He isn't even especially short.*)
You examine sprinkler
The sprinkler looks pretty ordinary. What's not ordinary is the pen that is wedged at an angle between the nozzle and the ceiling.

You are distracted by Julia squealing, "Wait, it's your birthday, too? Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
You examine the pen
It's a bright lavender tube, like the brand of gel-ink pen that Marty used to use. There are some scratchings on the side that look like letters, but from here you cannot read what it says.
Aside
It's interesting how your mind consistently malforms men who have crushes on me. Colin has three tiny birthmarks on his cheek and you call him "Splotchy Boy."
You move the stool to the sprinkler
If you want to move the charming stool, possible places are to the DESK (where the chair is), to the DOOR (where the stool is), to the CORNER by the cactus, or to the BOOKCASE.
You move stool to the corner
The stool is now as close to the corner as it can get, considering that the pot and cactus are in the way. Because the floor here is uneven and the stool is flimsy, it's extremely wobbly. Please do not try to stand on it.

You're looking out the window again. A pirate with a sword attacks a zombie who protects himself with surprising agility for the recently reanimated. Another pirate affixes a mast to the top of the van.
Still another hunches beside the van sticking a fake wooden leg over his real leg.
You look at the pot
The pot is big and looks like pewter. We've both been baffled at how heavy it is. I wonder if the business school professor had the cactus specially repotted before he left just to make it more expensive for Madison to dispose of.
You stand on the stool
I wish you wouldn't, but, you climb on to the stool. You start reaching up to the sprinkler but then you begin to lose your balance and the stool tips over beneath you and you fall, hitting your head on the edge of the pot. You are out cold.

It's sad to think that perhaps our relationship would have been saved if only you'd kept ample office supplies on hand.
You look at the balloon
It's about 25 centimetres across, milky white rubber decorated with purple ink swirls. A strange furry thing is inside, its three long legs pressing against the sides. At the bottom of the balloon is a bright yellow tab on which I've written "Pull me!"

You are distracted by a startled grunt from Historic Pfister. I do not believe this is happening.
You pull the yellow tab
You pull the tab and the balloon deflates with a pop and whoosh. You hear me shout "Happy birthday!" and zestily toot a kazoo.

What's left is a white rubber square with a message written on it. You are also holding the three-legged furry thing, which you now realise is an electronic device.
You examine the square
It's about 10 centimetres square and has a message handwritten in purple on it. One corner is a double piece stitched over so that it is like a tiny pouch.

In the "pouch" is a small chip.
You read it
You stretch the rubber square so that you can read what I've written:

Happy birthday! I know you wanted a boring ordinary music player, but I got my brother to send the latest piece of consumer electronics GENIUS from the kangaroo corridor.

Behold: the platyPod! Why three headphones? The middle one attaches by suction to your forehead for complete hands-free and display-free control. Not to mention kick-[bother] extra bass. Why is it furry? Don't ask me: Melbourne is in the throes of an epic fake-fur fad I don't understand. But this is going to be a HUGE hit, and not just among the armless blind.

Charge it with your computer. Then SCRUNCH YOUR BROW to turn it on. I've already put some bonus presents on it.

You are my FAVOURITE!
Violet
You examine the device
It looks like a set of over-the-head headphones, except there is a third one and it's covered with short, brown fur. There's a little plug that allows it to connect to the USB port of a computer. Tiny letters on the plug say "platyPod."

Julia's stupid perfume again. Remember when she was all excited to meet Lucy's brother after she heard he was a pheromone scientist?
You plug platyPod in the port
You plug in the platyPod. It will beep when it is fully charged.
You take the chip
Yours, chunky rabbit.

(The rubber is really strong and stretchy for how thin it is, isn't it? I got it from a company that makes weapons-grade slingshots.)

You're looking out the window again. The zombies and pirates stop and point toward the sky to the west.
You look at the chip
It's like one of those chips in a musical greeting card, with a tiny plum-coloured "V." painted on it. When you squeeze it you hear me shout "Happy birthday!" and then a cheery kazoo toot.

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP! The platyPod is fully charged. You retrieve it and return to what you were doing.
You put chip in platyPod
It's just a customised version of one of those chips that are in musical greeting cards. You don't have to worry about trying to find something to put it into.
You squeeze the chip
You hear me shouting "Happy birthday!" followed by a cheery kazoo toot.

You are distracted by Historic Pfister making noises perhaps best characterised as mewling.
You wear platyPod
The platyPod fits nicely in your ears and against your forehead. It is switched off.
You turn it on
There's no switch of any kind of the platyPod. It's completely hands-free! (That is, once it's on your head.)

The rubber square has instructions for how to turn on the platyPod.
Nod
Professor Detective explains to Undergraduate Constable Duffy that a murderer who escapes justice will invariably kill again, and the same logic applies to plagiarists.
Nod
The Confounder has Professor Detective tied up in his secret hideout next to the cyclotron. The Confounder cackles and taunts, "Let's see if tenure will save you now."
Nod
Professor Detective follows a shadowy figure into one of the steam tunnels underneath the engineering building.
Nod
Primrose sings about how she has a special purple pen that she uses when she writes about boys. I'm not sure I've ever heard a lead singer whose voice is so inconspicuous.
You jiggle head clockwise
You move your head in cute little clockwise circles. The volume is now so loud that you cannot hear Julia and Historic Pfister at all.
You check your inventory
You're carrying a small chip, a rubber square, a bit of lilac thread, a lighter, an empty plastic bottle, a notebook and a shiny little key, and you're wearing the platyPod.

Warren is playing "Someday They'll Go Too Far," which became a hit on local pirate radio stations after being discovered by school authorities and played on the evening news.
You shoot the key at the pen
Hmm. While I didn't have this in mind when I made it, the rubber square could be used like a slingshot if you put a suitable object in the little pouch.
You put the key in square
That isn't a container, spicy biscuit. Unless I'm misunderstanding what you are trying to do.
You put the key in the pouch
As strong and stretchy as the rubber is, you basically have a slingshot now that something is in the pouch. You could SHOOT SOMETHING. If I'm going to patent this, I should think about whether this unanticipated functionality exposes me to any legal risk.

Warren is playing "No Normal Boy Would Write That Song," recorded during a weekend furlough from a private psychiatric facility for troubled adolescent boys.
You shoot the pen
The key isn't going to work. It gets half-stuck coming out of the pouch and then just flutters to the floor.
You take pen
You can't reach it. The sprinkler is more than three metres off the floor.
You take the key
Yours, banana squizzle.

You have got to get over Julia's perfume. I am being indulgent with you here.
You put the chip in the pouch
You put the small chip into the rubber square's "pouch".
You shoot the pen
The chip isn't really a good shape for this. It flies in a odd arc and misses several feet to the right.
You take the chip
Yours, toaster strudel.

You're looking out the window again. The zombies and pirates have regained their composure and are lurching and marauding (respectively) toward the landed aircraft. The hatch at the bottom opens with strange green smoke billowing out.
You put the lighter in pouch
The lighter is a bit too long to fit in the pouch.
You examine bottle
The only part of the label in English says "Divine Soda Mega Energy." The bottle is empty.

You look up at the ceiling. "Colin wouldn't have forgotten his bag." you say ruefully. "Colin would never be without a pen." Please, mintchip. This is not a helpful line of thinking.
You look at the cactus
Supposedly the cactus belonged to a business school professor who left Madison for another university in a snit. An accidental transposition of numbers on a form caused it to be moved in here instead of University Botanical Disposal, and your department won't pay to move it again so it's been here for years.

Obtrusive, sure, but at least it hides that ugly pipe leading up to the sprinkler on your wall. Plus plants are cheery. I'm glad the pot is too heavy for you to be able to move it yourself.
You examine the pipe
The garish chrome pipe was obviously added sometime after the building was built, in response to some amendment to the fire code. It is flush against the wall and runs all the way up to a sprinkler that is only a few inches from the ceiling.
Describe the surroundings
There was a professor at uni in Melbourne who was sacked for living in an office smaller than this. He had a few kangaroos loose in the top paddock, as my mum would say.

You've a big desk in front of a window, a gorgeous yellow chair, a cabinet in one corner, a giant cactus in another, and a tall bookcase on the back wall with an incredibly cute stool. The door is west.

On the desk are your computer, my itinerary, a cleverly framed picture and a pile you cannot even contemplate. A fabulously intricate origami trophy sits on top of the cabinet. The bookcase contains a book and a smartly-done snowglobe. A wastebasket is on the floor.

Warren is playing "My Lonesome Pain is Not A Polka" from We Paid You For Happy, the artistic breakthrough composed while he supported himself with gigs at family reunions and retirement centres.
You look in the wastebasket
It's the standard issue University Dreary--sullen cousin of University Drab--metal wastebasket.

A wad of gum is stuck to the wastebasket's rim.
You take the gum
You pull the gum off the wastebasket's rim. Ick.
You put the gum in the pouch
You put the piece of Two Bob Slobber bubble gum into the rubber square's "pouch".

You're looking out the window again. Two aliens step through the hatch, green skin and giant foreheads. Eight other aliens jump out of the bushes and start attacking the pirates and zombies with these silver sticks that have a chartreuse coil wrapped around them.
You shoot the pen
The gum is maybe not quite dense enough to work. It flies in a looping arc and hits the ceiling several inches from the sprinkler without much velocity.
You take the gum
Yours, crunchie.
You look under the desk
Underneath your desk you see the amethyst-encrusted Sword Of Dissertator Melancholia.

Warren is playing from Drumsticks, the bootleg album recorded during a performance at a family fried chicken restaurant.
You examine Sword
Wallaroo. I was just kidding about there being a hitherto unnoticed "Sword Of Dissertator Melancholia" under your desk.
You look at Sword
Don't belabour the joke. There is no sword here.
Xyzzy
That time on the sixth floor of the library:
"Violet, that was-- that was--"
"Magical?"
"How did you do that?"
"Any sufficiently awesome girlfriend is indistinguishable from magic."
You move the wastebasket
Moving the wastebasket around your office isn't going to accomplish anything, cheese nip.

Warren is playing "You With the Notepad," the stunning and entirely improvised final track done without once breaking eye contact with a woman later identified as Francine Kinkle, music editor for a local college newspaper.
You examine the frame
As I said, I took the concert flier from our first "date" and made it into a hard plastic laminate--you know, like a Shrinky Dink. I made a clear plastic sheet the same size to go over the front of the photograph. Then I fused a sturdy binder clip to the two pieces to hold everything in place.
You examine clip
I've fused the binder clip to the rest of the frame. You can't do anything to it without breaking the frame, which, it goes without saying, has considerable sentimental value for us both.
You look in the trophy
It's exactly the same shape as the trophy they give to the winner of Sydney's Marathon. Bright fuchsia lines curl in and out of the folds.

I am going to be so angry if you're hiding a story about Julia doing some kind of Pavlovian conditioning experiments on you with the perfume when the two of you dated.*
Aside
Don't even try to act like that's implausible. Julia is so twisted. This is the woman who once asked if she could put on an album of recorded 911 calls while the two of you were intimate. (And you continued dating her afterwards! Unbelievable!)
Unfold trophy
You take the trophy I made for you and methodically unfold it. I cannot decide whether to be exasperated or moved by how you are so careful not to tear it. You're now holding a crumply sign, about a metre square.

Ugh. I was so excited to give you that trophy. I realise you are desperate because you don't want me to leave. You can do this. I am cheering for you.
You examine the sign
It's all crumply now. The bright fuchsia letters say:

FAVOURITE!
You cover the window with the sign
(putting the crumply sign on the sill)
You put the sign on the sill. The sign and the blind together now block the view out your window entirely.
You throw rubber at the pen
It's too flappy. It ends up just fluttering to the floor.

You look up at the ceiling again. "Colin finished his Ph.D. Colin has a job at Yale." Colin is not germane to your current predicament.
It's just a pen.
You take the rubber
Yours, teacake.
You examine the floor
It's drab and would look much better if we found a rug that matched the chair. (I'm not sure why I am so preoccupied with your office decor when what I want is for you to finish so we can get out of Madison.)

The floor slopes alarmingly downward over in the corner by the cactus, like that whole part of the room may be about to collapse.

On your floor is a wastebasket.
You look at the walls
Remember how Marty hung a couple of his paintings when this was his office? I wish you'd put up at least a couple posters. Your walls are so dreary and bare. Not anything to worry about today, of course.

The lightswitch is on the wall by the door.
You examine the lightswitch
It's just an ordinary lightswitch. The light is on.

Warren is playing the title track from Francine. (Actually, all 37 songs on the album are officially titled "Francine.")
You look at the light
It's a long, unadorned fluorescent bulb, like there is in all the other graduate student offices in the building. I am so glad I bought the happy light for my studio. There is no way I would get work done during the winter in Madison without it. I'm so glad it's finally spring.
You look at chair
It was just some dreary old office chair that they dragged up from the basement for you, but then I came up one weekend with this amazing yellow veloury-pleatherish fabric and upholstered it.
You take the snowglobe
Yours, marshmallow twimble. I still can't believe I stayed up two nights straight making it.

Warren is playing the song unofficially titled "Parking Garage," following the convention of identifying tracks on Francine by the location of the tryst the liner notes say inspired them.
You examine it
It's a glass globe with a plain wooden bottom. Inside is a happy winter scene, with a paunchy, smiling figurine in a white outfit and snow up to his ankles. His hands look like they are covered with chocolate.
You break it
But, you said you thought it was brilliant. Why would you want to break it?
You shake it
You shake the globe vigorously. The snow starts swirling around the globe, turning pink and then red.

Remember? Watching television at midnight:
"The Saskatoon Strangler. He killed six people before being arrested by the mounties in 1986."
"A documentary about a serial killer at bedtime?"
"Only six people, Violet. Plus, he worked as a confectioner!"
"If I can't sleep, you can't complain about the noise when I start working on something."

Warren is playing "Booth Seven at Steak'n'Shake," the track on Francine that got him tour dates opening for ironic death metal icon Jimmy Catkicker.
You look at the bottom shelf
You see nothing special about the bottom shelf.

You're distracted by Julia's perfume again. I'm sure she sprayed on a second gallon this morning just to sidetrack you.
Examine book
Sure, the book looks like something you'd find interesting. I'm not going to describe its contents any further, though, as I don't want to risk enticing you to start reading it.
You examine the pile
It's detritus from teaching, a couple unfinished side projects, and the earlier dissertation topic that you asked We Never Speak Of Again.
It's been accumulating and now makes you feel too overwhelmed even to contemplate.

Except today, when you absolutely must write, you are feeling an overwhelming urge to tidy it.
Search pile
What you really feel compelled to do with the pile is tidy it.
Tidy pile
You pick up one thing, then put it back down. You pick up another then put that down. You start thinking that what you really need is comprehensive office-straightening solution. You're thinking about making a diagram, maybe a spreadsheet.

STOP. This is not what you should be doing today.

Out of the pile, however, you do pick up a potato gem.
You examine the gem
(I always forget they aren't called potato gems here. Just like I can never remember that it's "cotton candy" instead of "fairy floss.")

I think you brought tater tots for your lunch a fortnight ago. I hope it's not older than that.

Warren is playing from his follow-up album to Francine, which was also titled Francine.
You put the gem in the pouch
You put the tater tot into the rubber square's "pouch".
You shoot the pen
You're a very good shot. I guess you were serious about that spooky bowhunting uncle. The tater tot misses the pen by less than half an inch and hits the wall, where it shatters.

I think you've the right idea, though. One more shot and I bet you'll hit it.
You examine the desk
It's an enviable desk, even if someone did die on it. On top are your computer, my itinerary, a cleverly framed picture and a pile you cannot even contemplate.

The desk's drawer is empty. A wastebasket is on the floor to the left.

Warren is playing excerpts from "Why?," originally an eighty-three minute song in which he stops playing once to cry and twice to leave voicemails for Francine.
You write
(first sitting on chair)
Within three minutes you've taken the cable out of the cabinet and are watching a video of a dog dressed as a ballerina. Oh, plucky wombat. If you can't be disciplined, then you'll have to be clever.

You do unplug the cable again and lock it back in the cabinet. Now, what to do with the key?
You put key in the pouch
You put the shiny little key into the rubber square's "pouch".
You shoot the pen
The key isn't going to work. It gets half-stuck coming out of the pouch and then just flutters to the floor.
You take the key
Yours, plucky wombat.
You put the gum in the pouch
You put the piece of Two Bob Slobber bubble gum into the rubber square's "pouch".

Warren is playing "It's Because He Plays Guitar, Isn't it?"
You take the gum
Yours, honeytoast.
You put the gum on the key
Clever, wonkabar. Unfortunately, the gum's not that sticky. You'd just peel it off again.
Chew gum
When I made you try it before, you said that it tastes sort of like American bubble gum, only if one added soy sauce, pieces of pickled meat, and a bit of blood.

And add to that now a strong mildew taste. Yuck. You gag and spit the gum back out.
You put the gum on key
Unfortunately, the gum's not that sticky. You'd just peel it off again.

Don't think you can stealthy-sniff and I won't notice. You need to get over that perfume.
Break frame
You try to break the frame gently. I fused the binder clip well, however, so you end up having to pull and twist to get it apart. When you do, the front and back each break into several pieces, and so what is now on the desk along with the binder clip and photograph are some pitiful little plastic shards.

Obviously I won't be able to repair it.

I loved that frame. I'm not sure what you are expecting me to say. Hooray?

Remember when I handed you the itinerary last night? Your response: "So I have tomorrow. What do I need to do?"
You take the clip
"Please," I told you, "I don't want yet another promise."
"I will write tomorrow. I will write every day until it is done."
"You won't. You'll have reasons, excuses. Maybe more lies. I can't believe you've been lying--"
"Violet, I will write one thousand words tomorrow. I will bring the pages to you as proof. I will do this every day."
You put clip in the pouch
Then I covered my face with my hands because otherwise I wouldn't have been able to say it:
"You won't. I know you believe that you will. But you won't actually do it."
"Of course I will, Violet. I have to."
"And yet you won't. That's how we're stuck. I can't keep waiting and pretending. Every day? Budgie, you won't even do it tomorrow."
"I will. One thousand words. Nothing will stop me."

I need for you to write today. I wish you could just sit and type. I realise you can't. Of course it hurts to watch you destroy things I spent days making for you. But do whatever you must. I don't want to leave you.
Just because you are imagining me doesn't mean I'm a mindreader.
You put the clip in the pouch
You need to be holding the binder clip before you can put it into something else.

You start doing your Colin imitation. "Why, Violet, as I was reading the proofs of my second book last night, I started thinking about that boyfriend of yours. How is he? Still fussing about not having a pen?"
You take the clip
Yours, jellysquish.
You put clip in the pouch
You put the binder clip into the rubber square's "pouch".
You put the clip on nose
(first taking the binder clip)
You've put the binder clip on your nose.
Smell
I don't see what you are talking about.

You can't smell anything now that you've a binder clip on your nose, so you're liberated from Julia's perfume ruining your concentration.
You write
(first sitting on chair)
Within three minutes you've taken the cable out of the cabinet and are watching a video of a dog dressed as a ballerina. Oh, chutney. If you can't be disciplined, then you'll have to be clever.

You do unplug the cable again and lock it back in the cabinet. Now, what to do with the key?
You examine photo
I've already described the photograph of me with the giant foam lobster on my head. I am definitely worth a thousand words.

Warren is playing from Listen, one of the few known albums in which a single artist plays guitar and accordion simultaneously.
You look around
I'm surprised you don't have any pictures from home up, but I can be especially sentimental since home for me involves crossing both the equator and International Date Line.

You've a great big desk in front of a window, a resplendent yellow chair, a cabinet in one corner, a giant cactus in another, and a tall bookcase on the back wall with an incredibly cute stool. The door is west.

On the desk are some pitiful little plastic shards, a photograph, your computer, my itinerary and a pile you cannot even contemplate. The bookcase holds a book. A wastebasket is on the floor.
You look at the shards
The red and black plastic shards were once part of a frame I lovingly made for you, and before that they were part of a poster from the concert we attended on our first date. Now they are useless.
You tie the thread to the key
In Melbourne we had to be able to tie ten different kinds of knots in order to graduate from secondary school. I'm not sure what would be accomplished by trying to tie the thread to the shiny little key, though.

Warren is playing "Can Jimmy Do This?," which one music critic called "the most ambitious guitar solo ever by someone who had been playing the instrument for less than a week."
You examine the itinerary
A printout of an airline receipt for a certain Ms. Violet C., for a flight from Madison to Chicago to Los Angeles to Auckland to Melbourne. One-way, refundable. Departing early tomorrow morning.
You read the notebook
This page has two drawings of your advisor. On the left she looks enthusiastic; on the right, worried and disappointed. The speech balloon on the left says "Think big! I've never had a student with so much potential!" The balloon on the right says, "THE BEST DISSERTATION IS A DONE DISSERTATION."

Your advisor is nutty anyway. I'm still angry about the time she made you catsit.
You put the key under the door
You slide the key under the door. It feels good to be rid of it.

A few moments later you hear a noise and look down to see the key skidding back under your door.
You take key
Yours, rockmelon.

Warren is playing "An Inch Too Tall" from Not Exactly Fair To Them, recorded during the extended tour that followed Listen.
Break key
It's a spunky little key. You can't break it.
Contemplate pile
You can't without becoming a puddle. This is what I'm saying.
You examine computer
The PC is old but fine. Applications include a word processor, browser, chat, and e-mail.

Your computer is disconnected from the Internet.
You move the bookcase
It's bolted to the wall.

You look up. "Colin would never--" ENOUGH. Colin has no relevance to this whatsoever.
You examine the desk
It's an excellent desk, even if someone did keel over on it. On top are some pitiful little plastic shards, a photograph, your computer, my itinerary and a pile you cannot even contemplate.

The desk's drawer is empty. A wastebasket is on the floor to the left.
You take the drawer
That seems to be a part of your desk.
You take shards
Yours, marble munch.

Warren is playing "Hedge Clippers" from This Is What You Drove Me To, Mrs. Kinkle-Catkicker.
Chew gum
No way are you putting that back in your mouth.
You examine the gum
It's a slightly wet pink blob with little specks of brown.
You put the gum on key
Unfortunately, the gum's not that sticky. You'd just peel it off again.
You look at what you're carrying with you
You're carrying some pitiful little plastic shards, a shiny little key, a pink sticky blob of bubble gum, a deftly-crafted snowglobe, a rubber square, a small chip, a bit of lilac thread, a lighter, an empty plastic bottle and a notebook, and you're wearing the platyPod.

You also have a binder clip on your nose.

Warren is playing "Bagel Slicer," in which his playing is spirited but clearly far below his usual skills.
You open the snowglobe
Of course you can't open the snowglobe. I sealed it with industrial glue.
You look at platyPod
Presumably it looks like a three-legged space creature is attacking your head. Comfy, though.
You examine lighter
The lighter is promoting some race car driver whose car is #67. Our Number.

I was tipsy at a party and you were one of four random dudes trying to talk to me at once. I interrupted to tell my favourite joke. "Why is six afraid of seven?"
"Because seven eight--"
"No!" I shouted, "Because seven [the sickest thing I could come up with at the moment] nine."

The other men chuckled uncomfortably. You laughed so hard you spit Guinness on my face. That was when I decided I liked you.
You open the lighter
That's not something you can open.

Warren is playing "Teeth," in which obviously substandard musicianship is accompanied by complaints about the difficulty playing with only one finger.
You examine the cabinet
It's University Drab, about a metre high with a silly fake wood front. It's closed and locked.
You open the door
You are going to open the door while your ex-girlfriend is hooking up with someone right across the hall? And then what? Do you really think that whatever happens is going to be something where you'll be able to write afterwards? You need to stay here and focus.
You turn off the light
Done. The room is much dimmer, with most of the light coming from the computer.

You pause for a moment. Your shoulders slump. You say "Colin--," then stop. You're thinking about the pen again, aren't you?
Look around
Here in your office, you have a huge desk, a gorgeous yellow chair, a cabinet, a giant cactus, a tall bookcase, and an incredibly cute stool.

On the desk are a photograph, your computer, my itinerary and a pile you cannot even contemplate. The bookcase contains a book. A wastebasket is on the floor.
You turn on the light
Fine. That's better than having the light only coming from the computer.
You stand on the bookcase
This is how office furniture at Wisconsin works: the bookcase is bolted to the wall, and yet the shelves are so rickety that I'm sure if you try to climb the bookcase, one of them will collapse and you'll sprain something.
You stand on the stool
The stool creaks once again as you climb onto it.

Warren is playing "So I Lied (Pathetic, I Know)," from the compilation of songs he mailed to his manager at erratic intervals from different locations in the rural West.
You examine the bookcase
I think it was smart of you to take away your books, although of course now the bookcase does look dreary.

On the second shelf is a book.
You examine whatever
(first getting off the stool)
It's broken now.
You examine blind
As I've already said, I wish the blind was more colourful. I also wish it wasn't stuck halfway down the window.
You look at the sill
The sill is behind and slightly below the desk. It's painted white.

On the sill is a crumply sign.
You search pipe
The garish chrome pipe was obviously added sometime after the building was built, in response to some amendment to the fire code. It is flush against the wall and runs all the way up to a sprinkler that is only a few inches from the ceiling.

Warren is playing "Your Cult Sounds Pretty Cool," his last known recording.
You open the window
For a graduate student like yourself, having an office with a window and a great view is almost too much to hope for. A window that actually opens is, in fact, too much to hope for.
You eat the key
Not to suggest you're wimpy, but I could swallow that key if I had to. I don't know if you are too squeamish or what. You gag wildly and cough up the key almost immediately.
You eat key
It's not going to work, sticky pudding. You are lucky you didn't vomit the last time.
You open the gum
That's not something you can open.

Warren Tim Harried is playing "Please Don't (My Grandma Gave Me That)" from Runt with an Accordion, recorded when he was fourteen years old.
You look at the wastebasket
It's the standard issue University Dreary metal wastebasket.
You look under the desk
Underneath your desk is a portal to an enchanted realm about to be destroyed by an evil sorcerer who can only by stopped by you--you, the lost prince, possessor of hitherto untapped wizarding powers that are your sacred birthright.

Plus, if you succeed, a team of faerie elves will write your dissertation for you.
You examine the portal
I wish there really was a portal. Faerie elves rock.

Okay. You should go back to trying to write.
You move the stool to the door
The stool is now by the door.

You pause and look wallowy. You slouch. It's just a pen. Please.
You stand on the stool
The stool creaks once again as you climb onto it.
You look at the vent
The vent has a square metal grill. You try to look into the vent but it's dark and you are still maybe 30 centimetres or more below it. You won't be able to see into the vent from here.
Light lighter
The lighter ultimately doesn't work well, just flickering enough that you can maybe BURN something. (Burning things! Yay!)  You wouldn't be able to use it as a source of illumination.
Burn cactus
(first getting off the stool)
When my brother did his year abroad in the US, it was at a place called the Burning Cactus ranch. Did I ever tell you that? I guess I must've. Anyway, it would be fabulous to set the cactus on fire, but you don't seem to be able to manage it with the lighter.
Burn snowglobe
I don't see how you'd be able to burn that.

Warren is playing "Someday They'll Go Too Far," which became a hit on local pirate radio stations after being discovered by school authorities and played on the evening news.
You look at the stool
Remember? Me, looking triumphant as I haul the flimsy stool into our apartment:
"Look what I found in the dumpster! Just what you need!"
"Do you think it will collapse if I stand on it?"
"Not immediately. Just be careful."
"I can't believe the secretary said I was 'undeserving' when I asked if I could have a stool."
"This stool is better, anyway. Maybe I'll paint it!"
You look under the desk
OK. I'm done with this. There's actually nothing under your desk.
You examine photo
I've already described the photograph of me with the giant foam lobster on my head. I am definitely worth a thousand words.
You turn the photo over
I understand neither what you are wanting to do nor why.

Warren is playing "No Normal Boy Would Write That Song," recorded during a weekend furlough from a private psychiatric facility for troubled adolescent boys.
You examine the dissertation
You've made some really handsome margin and font choices already for your dissertation, wallaroo. Now all you need is text.
About yourself
You look tired, which is understandable given the length of our "discussion" last night.

You're carrying some pitiful little plastic shards, a shiny little key, a pink sticky blob of bubble gum, a deftly-crafted snowglobe, a rubber square, a small chip, a bit of lilac thread, a lighter, an empty plastic bottle and a notebook, and you're wearing the platyPod.

You also have a binder clip on your nose.
You put the key in the bottle
I'm not sure what that would accomplish. If you put the key in the bottle, you'll just be able to get it back out again.
Burn bottle
I don't see how you'd be able to burn that.

Warren is playing "My Lonesome Pain is Not A Polka" from We Paid You For Happy, the artistic breakthrough composed while he supported himself with gigs at family reunions and retirement centres.
You look at the notebook
It's a smallish notebook, about 10x15 centimetres. As you're holding it now, the cover features Professor Detective telling Undergraduate Constable Duffy, "In both my vocations, intelligence means little without DISCIPLINE."
You read the notebook
On the top half of this page are a few beginnings of sentences, all crossed out. On the bottom you've written:

lazy lazy
lazy    lazy    lazy
lazy   lazy
lazy   lazy     lazy
lazy    lazy

Wallaroo. You are not lazy.
You read the notebook
On this page you've just written:

FAILURE
FAILURE
FAILURE
FAILURE
FAILURE

You are such a drama queen. We are going to get your dissertation unstuck today. You'll wish you'd thought to bring me along sooner.
You read the notebook
The remaining pages of the notebook are blank.

You pause and look morose. You do the thing where you put your hands on your temples and start tugging your hair. Please forget about the pen.
You break the window
It's hard for me to see what purpose breaking your window would serve. More importantly, someone would almost certainly see and call campus security, and that will introduce new hassles to your afternoon and prevent you from getting any writing done.
Break key
It's a spunky little key. You can't break it.
Break stool
Why would you do that? Besides my having painted the stool so lovely for you, you wouldn't be able to get to anything on top of the bookcase anymore.
Break snowglobe
Ugh. Okay. You break the snowglobe against the pipe. You pick up the figurine and the base, the latter of which you realise now was just a coaster I took from the kitchen. You leave the broken glass on the floor.

I can make another snowglobe easy enough. The figurine is intact, and that's the part that took more than two days.

Warren is playing from Drumsticks, the bootleg album recorded during a performance at a family fried chicken restaurant.
You examine the coaster
It's a University of Wisconsin coaster, with a photo of the mascot Bucky Badger on the front. Bucky's beady eyes never fail to creep me out.
You put the coaster in the pouch
The coaster is too big to fit in the pouch.
You examine the figurine
Luckily he's not damaged. He looks smaller outside the globe. I don't know if I will want to make another snowglobe or do something different.
You put the figurine in the pouch
Done. I'm not sure I like this.
You shoot the pen
The Saskastoon Strangler sails through the air and hits the pen headfirst, knocking it loose. The pen falls to the floor. The figurine careens ahead into the wall and shatters.

Unbelievable. Un-be-[bother]ing-lievable.

Remember? That night sitting on the swings, shortly after we started dating? I was emphatic that we had to end this before we got serious.
"But, Violet," you said, "I'm already serious."
"Coming to Wisconsin was supposed to be a great adventure. I didn't know it was so cold. I thought Madison was bigger. I miss my family. My friends are all leaving when they finish their MFAs. Mine is already done. We only have a future if I stay. And if I stay, I would just be waiting."
We had that conversation the day after you turned 28, because I was determined to break up with you and thought only a cretin would dump someone on their birthday.

You convinced me to stay. You said you would be done in a year, a year and a half at the most. Instead: two years now. Two years. And this is what you need to do because you can't just sit your [bother] down and write?

I know you aren't doing this to hurt me. I'll try go back to being Your Upbeat Aussie Girlfriend. But, honestly: what am I supposed to think here? How am I supposed to feel?
You take the pen
Yours, weet-bix.

Warren is playing "You With the Notepad," the stunning and entirely improvised final track done without once breaking eye contact with a woman later identified as Francine Kinkle, music editor for a local college newspaper.
You examine the sprinkler
It looks like an ordinary sprinkler. Nothing intriguing about it.
You write
(first sitting on chair)
Within three minutes you've taken the cable out of the cabinet and are watching a video of a dog dressed as a ballerina. Oh, dundeecake. If you can't be disciplined, then you'll have to be clever.

You do unplug the cable again and lock it back in the cabinet. Now, what to do with the key?
You check what you're carrying
You're carrying a shiny little key, a pen, a coaster, some pitiful little plastic shards, a pink sticky blob of bubble gum, a rubber square, a small chip, a bit of lilac thread, a lighter, an empty plastic bottle and a notebook, and you're wearing the platyPod.

You also have a binder clip on your nose.
You eat the key
It's not going to work, berry smush. You are lucky you didn't vomit the last time.

Warren is playing the title track from Francine. (Actually, all 37 songs on the album are officially titled "Francine.")
You put the key under the door
A few moments later someone has slid the key back into your office.
You take the key
Yours, wallaroo.
You put key in the pouch
You put the shiny little key into the rubber square's "pouch".
You take the key
Yours, wallaroo.

Warren is playing the song unofficially titled "Parking Garage," following the convention of identifying tracks on Francine by the location of the tryst the liner notes say inspired them.
You put the key in the pot
That won't work. You would just fish it out again later, dundeecake.
You put the key in the computer
That isn't a container, wallaroo. Unless I'm misunderstanding what you are trying to do.
You unscrew pen
Nothing obvious happens.
You examine the pen
With its cap on it looks like a bright lavender tube. Crudely etched on the side is a message:

Eek. Apparently Marty had it for me worse than I realised.
You remove the cap
When you take off the cap, purple gunk sprays out of it and all over your clothes. Marty!

I don't know how he rigged that. I also don't know why men conclude that the best way of expressing anguish over me is through some display of mechanical cleverness. Remember Colin and the 50-foot aluminium peacock?

The pen itself actually works. Of course, your clothes are ruined. Worse, you are starting to itch.

Warren is playing "Booth Seven at Steak'n'Shake," the track on Francine that got him tour dates opening for ironic death metal icon Jimmy Catkicker.
You examine the clothes
I don't know what the purple gunk is, but it's certainly making you itch.

You are itchy.
You remove the clothes
You place your clothes neatly next to the cactus.

So now you're standing in your office naked, with a red binder clip on your nose and what looks like a furry three-legged space creature on your head.

You are ready to write now. I can feel it.
You examine the cap
It's a completely ordinary pen cap. I still don't understand how Marty rigged it to squirt that purple gunk.
You examine the tattoo
"TYVTWD" in red marker on the back of your right hand.
You throw the key at the light
I don't see what that would accomplish. Please just write.

Warren is playing from his follow-up album to Francine, which was also titled Francine.
You look
Here in your office, you have a huge desk, a resplendent yellow chair, a cabinet, a giant cactus, a tall bookcase, and an incredibly cute stool.

On the desk are a photograph, your computer, my itinerary and a pile you cannot even contemplate. The bookcase holds a book. In addition, on the floor are your clothes, fake snow and a wastebasket.
You put the key on the top of the bookcase
The bookcase is too tall for you to put anything on top of it unless you are standing on the stool.
You move the stool to the bookcase
The stool is now back in its intended location by the bookcase.

Warren is playing excerpts from "Why?," originally an eighty-three minute song in which he stops playing once to cry and twice to leave voicemails for Francine.
You stand on the bookcase
This is how office furniture at Wisconsin works: the bookcase is bolted to the wall, and yet the shelves are so rickety that I'm sure if you try to climb the bookcase, one of them will collapse and you'll sprain something.
You put key on the top of the bookcase
Curious, dundeecake. Done.
You stand
You are already on the stool.
You get off the stool
You get off the stool.

Warren is playing "It's Because He Plays Guitar, Isn't it?"
Break stool
Gently, but irreparably, you break the stool.

I know it was practically broken already, but I loved that stool. I know I said to do "whatever you must." It still hurts to watch what that "must" is taking from us.

Ultimately, yes, I understand. Then again, I'm speaking just as your imaginary rendition of me. Actual-Me was already fed up enough to buy a plane ticket; I'm not sure how you expect to explain this.
You write
(first sitting on chair)
You try again. Within a few seconds you start wondering what the fear of writing is called. Scribophobia? Graphophobia? You go to look it up online. You can't. You itch to check your e-mail. You can't.

So you start thinking about Chapter 3 again. Woo-woo! The train of ideas is finally pulling into keyboard station. I can see the first sentence now.

But the music is so loud that it spoils your concentration and everything derails. Ugh. It's like trying to write while sitting next to the amps at a concert. I didn't think I could possibly hate Julia any worse than after she posted my cell phone # on those marsupial fetish listservs. You cannot let her win.
You raise the right eyebrow
The platyPod clicks and the oz-hop you fail to properly appreciate resumes.
You write
The volume on the platyPod is too loud for you to concentrate.

Not to be morbid, but it's too bad you aren't a bit hard of hearing. Then the platyPod could block out the remaining noise without being too loud.
You jiggle head clockwise
You move your head in adorable little clockwise circles. TOO LOUD!
TOO LOUD! You jiggle your head anticlockwise to turn it back down.

You glance over to the book. You're fidgeting. You know you've already more than enough ideas for a first draft. Just put the book out of your mind today.
Burn book
(standing up first)
Gee, budgie. Far be it from me to be the moral conscience when fire is involved, but that's a library book. There's bound to be a hefty fine. And it seems a little insane. If you really want to, we can, but it shouldn't be a rash decision.
Burn book
(first taking the book)
I was secretly hoping you would. You light the book on fire and it burns magnificently! Yay! That was epic to watch, and now we don't have to deal with you being tempted anymore to read.

The coughing and light smoke damage are well worth it. I'll go halfsies on the library fine.

As for the sprinkler: nothing. Not one drop. Don't even pretend to be surprised to learn that the University gives graduate students offices in a death-trap.
You write
(first sitting on chair)
The volume on the platyPod is too loud for you to concentrate.
You jiggle head counterclockwise
You move your head in jaunty little anticlockwise circles. The volume is not loud. You can still sometimes hear Julia and Historic Pfister across the hall. (Hopefully the platyPod 2.0 will allow more precise volume control.)
You write
You're ready to write. Except now you are looking at the door. True, you can still sometimes hear Julia and Historic Pfister across the hall. The noise not loud enough as to normally be a distraction, but I can understand that your ex-girlfriend and some dork hooking up is not "normally."
You put the gum in the ears
You can't put anything in your ears so long as you are wearing the platyPod.

You are distracted by Historic Pfister's shrieking attempts to summon a deity.
You remove platyPod
The platyPod automatically turns off when you remove it.
You put the gum in the ears
You are marvellous. The gum does not block out all sound, but some. You can still hear Julia and Historic Pfister when they are being especially loud.
You wear platyPod
The platyPod still fits well, as the earpieces nestle nicely into the gum. The platyPod is switched off.
You scrunch the brow
My voice: "Look, it even lets you record a start-up message! How the platyPod works: You cycle through the different playlists by RAISING your left or right eyebrow. NOD to skip to the next track. JIGGLE your head clockwise to turn the volume up, and jiggle it anticlockwise to turn it down."

The platyPod turns on. The platyPod clicks and the oz-hop you fail to properly appreciate resumes.

The volume is on low, and it's even lower with the gum in your ears. Nonetheless, you can still sometimes faintly hear Julia and Historic Pfister across the hall.
You jiggle head clockwise
You move your head in endearing little clockwise circles. The volume is still not that loud given the gum in your ears, but you can no longer hear Julia and Historic Pfister at all. Hee. Take that, Julia!
You write
You try again. But then you hear MC Dingo rhyme "casino" and "albino" and it breaks your concentration entirely. When I put oz-hop on your platyPod, I wasn't really thinking of it as writing music.

MC Dingo contends that you're not a real gangsta unless you come from a country originally founded as a gangsta colony.
You raise the left eyebrow
The platyPod clicks and Warren is kicking [bother] on his accordion again.
You write
You try again. But then you start doing air accordion to Warren Tim Harried. I'm not sure how easy it is going to be able for you to write while the most compelling musician ever is playing.
You write
You write two more sentences. I can tell you're feeling more confident. I knew you could do this. You conclude the first paragraph with an especially provocative participle. Then you hit enter and realise:

You have to pee.

Unbelievable. This must be an anxiety thing. You are killing me.
Pee in bottle
You do. Obviously I didn't watch. I'm disgusted but proud of your perseverance.
You write
You write a second paragraph. Then a third. You're past a thousand words within a few hours. You decide you want to finish the entire section. You do. Not your best prose, but that isn't the point.
Julia and the zombies have long gone when you finish, which you are thankful for when you need to run naked out to the car.

You rehearse what you want to tell me all the way home. Instead, there's a note on the door:

Gone. Sorry.

You had to have known I was going to leave you anyway. All the clues were there.

"SURPRISE!" thirty people jump up and shout when you open the door. Good thing you were covering your [bother] with the pages you wrote.

One hour and three drinks later, you aren't even that embarrassed. I pull you into the kitchen and kiss you.

"You said you wanted something twisted for your birthday."
"I was thinking more along the lines of you in peculiar lingerie."
"I spent much of today hyperventilating thinking it was too cruel."
"I figured out some important things today. So, at worst, it was an extremely instructive cruel."
"I'll still understand if you're angry."
"You're the one who's going to be angry. I have to tell you something about the snowglobe. And the origami trophy. And--"

I put my hand on your chest to stop you. "I've a confession that supersedes yours."

I open up my laptop and show you. On my screen is your office, as seen from the vent above the door.

Of course you're bewildered. I explain: "When I was hiding your birthday present, I rigged a camera up there. Not to spy! Or, not to spy like that. I needed to know when you were coming home for the party. I thought it would just be you at your computer. I didn't know you'd end up naked and peeing in a soda bottle."

"I spent the entire day imagining that you were watching me," you say. "Maybe it only worked because you actually were."
"Watching you break everything was maddening," I tell you, "but I'm still here. I understand, even. Sort of. So long as you understand that you're only getting store-bought presents for a while."

We've reached the hard part. "I'm committed to this, budgie. But I don't know what we're going to do with you."

"No, Violet. What are we going to do with you? My turn is done. It's the only fair thing."
"You've been miserable. You'll be happier this way."
"I'm already happier. Today made it so clear. This is not what I'm meant to be doing with my life. I know, I've spent six years in graduate school, I should be crying right now. Instead I feel wonderful. I love you so much."

Me too, wallaroo.

Three weeks later we are holding hands in the supereconomy section of a flight to Australia. My brother is lending me money to open a curiosities shop. He's found you a job at a comic book shop until you decide what's next.

* * *

I know it's not precisely Plan A, but we are happy and unstuck. This is winning. What now? I understand if you just want to QUIT now that the merry glow of victory is upon us. But you can also UNDO the last turn, RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, or (bonus!) view some of the so-called AMUSING things you might've missed.
Petname egg
Hey, wallaroo.
Petname egg
You're great, dundeecake.
Petname egg
I adore you, wallaroo.
Petname egg
You're the best, dundeecake.
Julia egg
1. Somebody is coming up the stairs. I thought you said no one ever comes in on the weekend?

2. Two voices in the hallway: a man and Julia. Julia hasn't been in her office in weeks. She shows up on a Saturday?

3. Julia is here to sabotage you. I'm sure of it. She's in her office across the hall now, talking loudly with her door open.

4. The dude with Julia sounds like the one she was flirting with at Lucy's party. Remember? He was scrawny and said his parents owned a hotel in Milwaukee called "The Historic Pfister."

5. I don't know why I confided in Lucy about our problems. I should have known she would tell Julia.

6. You are distracted by Julia laughing inauthentically and telling Historic Pfister "You are so clever."

7. You are distracted by Julia talking about her abs.

8. You are distracted by Julia saying especially loudly "...You could use mine to calculate pi..."*

9. You are distracted by Julia going on loudly about how you get a discount if you get both tongue piercings at the same time.

10. You are distracted by Julia talking about her [bother]. I can't believe you dated someone so crass.

11. You are distracted by Julia saying especially loudly, "Impressive, huh? When I was in high school my guidance counsellor recommended that I become a contortionist."

12. You are distracted by Julia saying especially loudly, "It's not so much that I'm double jointed as just very determined."

13. You are distracted by Julia saying especially loudly, "Sure, she's cute. If you can get past the mole."

Hey! Watch it, Julia.

14. You are distracted by Julia saying "She makes things that look like summer camp crafts and tries to convince people they're art."

I wonder if I'd get away with it if I killed her right before my flight leaves tomorrow morning.

15. You are distracted by Julia loudly saying "I bet when they first hooked up, she was like, 'Would you like to see my didgeridoo?'" (That has to be the most gallingly inept fake Australian accent I have ever heard. She sounds like a Norwegian parakeet.)

16. You are distracted by Julia laughing and mock-shrieking "Or maybe, 'Touch my kiwi! Touch my kiwi!'" Ugh. How can someone almost have her Ph.D. and not know that kiwis are New Zealand, not Australia?

17. You are distracted by Julia saying especially loudly, "You've been working out. I've noticed."

Oh no.

18. You are distracted by Julia squealing, "Wait, it's your birthday, too? Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

19. You are distracted by a startled grunt from Historic Pfister. I do not believe this is happening.

20. You are distracted by Historic Pfister making noises perhaps best characterised as mewling.

21. You are distracted by Julia saying, "Wait, if today is the 24th, and you are 24, that makes this your golden birthday." Well, then.

22. You are distracted by Historic Pfister's shrieking attempts to summon a deity.

23. You are distracted by Historic Pfister saying excitedly, "Okay, now you're a princess, and I'm a ninja!"

24. You are distracted by Historic Pfister making a noise that doesn't sound very much like a ninja, unless there is an order of yodelling ninja I don't know about.

25. You are distracted by Historic Pfister making contented little yelping sounds.

You have to pee.
Patriarchy off
I suspect that's a fair bit more difficult to program.
You open the browser
You get a "Server Not Found" message. See! Disconnecting yourself from the Internet was a good idea!

Primrose sings about how the idea of living with eight housemates sounded like fun but she actually spends most weekends hiding from them in her room. You pay no attention.

You have to pee.