text: [Themes: Slice of life, Collegiate, Romance, anxiety, humor]
  
  > 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.
  
  > turn on the light
  Fine. That's better than having the light only coming from the computer.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > examine whatever
  (first getting off the stool)
  It's broken now.
  
  > 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.
  
  > look at the sill
  The sill is behind and slightly below the desk. It's painted white.
  
  On the sill is a crumply sign.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > eat key
  It's not going to work, sticky pudding. You are lucky you didn't vomit the last time.
  
  > 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.
  
  > look at the wastebasket
  It's the standard issue University Dreary metal wastebasket.
  
  > 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.
  
  > examine the portal
  I wish there really was a portal. Faerie elves rock.
  
  Okay. You should go back to trying to write.
  
  > 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.
  
  > stand on the stool
  The stool creaks once again as you climb onto it.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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!"
  
  > look under the desk
  OK. I'm done with this. There's actually nothing under your desk.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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."
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > put the coaster in the pouch
  The coaster is too big to fit in the pouch.
  
  > 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.
  
  > put the figurine in the pouch
  Done. I'm not sure I like this.
  
  > 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?
  
  > 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.
  
  > examine the sprinkler
  It looks like an ordinary sprinkler. Nothing intriguing about it.
  
  > 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?
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.")
  
  > put the key under the door
  A few moments later someone has slid the key back into your office.
  
  > take the key
  Yours, wallaroo.
  
  > put key in the pouch
  You put the shiny little key into the rubber square's "pouch".
  
  > 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.
  
  > put the key in the pot
  That won't work. You would just fish it out again later, dundeecake.
  
  > put the key in the computer
  That isn't a container, wallaroo. Unless I'm misunderstanding what you are trying to do.
  
  > unscrew pen
  Nothing obvious happens.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > examine the clothes
  I don't know what the purple gunk is, but it's certainly making you itch.
  
  You are itchy.
  
  > 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.
  
  > examine the cap
  It's a completely ordinary pen cap. I still don't understand how Marty rigged it to squirt that purple gunk.
  
  > examine the tattoo
  "TYVTWD" in red marker on the back of your right hand.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > put key on the top of the bookcase
  Curious, dundeecake. Done.
  
  > stand
  You are already on the stool.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > raise the right eyebrow
  The platyPod clicks and the oz-hop you fail to properly appreciate resumes.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > write
  (first sitting on chair)
  The volume on the platyPod is too loud for you to concentrate.
  
  > 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.)
  
  > 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."
  
  > 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.
  
  > remove platyPod
  The platyPod automatically turns off when you remove it.
  
  > 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.
  
  > wear platyPod
  The platyPod still fits well, as the earpieces nestle nicely into the gum. The platyPod is switched off.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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!
  
  > 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.
  
  > raise the left eyebrow
  The platyPod clicks and Warren is kicking [bother] on his accordion again.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.