text: [Themes: Collegiate, Romance, Slice of life, gender choice, strong NPCs, anxiety, procrastination]
  
  > 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.
  
  > check your inventory
  You're carrying nothing.
  
  You've a tattoo on the back of your hand.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.)
  
  > 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?
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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!
  
  > 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."
  
  > 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.
  
  > stand
  You stand.
  
  I don't know why I confided in Lucy about our problems. I should have known she would tell Julia.
  
  > find the coffee
  If you'd wanted coffee, you really ought to have stopped at Java Squid on the drive here.
  
  > go to the west
  You need to write. Your computer is here.
  
  (Besides, your office door is closed. Might I add: for a reason.)
  
  > 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.
  
  > touch the cactus
  Eek! No. Do you remember how last month you spent an entire afternoon whinging because you had a splinter?
  
  > 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?
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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."
  
  > take all from the drawer
  One thing at a time today, dundeecake.
  
  > take the key
  Yours, vegemite.
  
  > take the notebook
  Yours, lorikeet.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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."
  
  > unlock the cabinet with key
  You unlock the cabinet, glancing briefly at the trophy on top as you do.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.)
  
  > examine bottle
  The only part of the label in English says "Divine Soda Mega Energy." The bottle is filled with a fluorescent pink liquid.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.)
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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..."*
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > look at the cord
  It's a plain white cord, easily tangled.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > stand on the desk
  You climb onto your desk. Be careful, fruit cup.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > look at the blind
  The blind is raised.
  
  > pull the cord
  You pull the cord and the blind lowers halfway, then stops.
  
  > 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!"
  
  > 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.
  
  > stand
  I'm confused. You're presently standing on the floor of your office.
  
  > 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."
  
  > take whatever
  That seems to be a part of the blind.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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?"
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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."
  
  > unplug the cable
  Done, weet-bix. You're now holding the ethernet cable.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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!"
  
  > eat the cable
  I'm confused. That's not something you can eat.
  
  > 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.
  
  > put the cable in the wastebasket
  You put the blue ethernet cable into the wastebasket.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > take the balloon
  (standing up first)
  Yours, pollywaffle.
  
  > 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.
  
  > open the cabinet
  That's already open.
  
  > put the cable in it
  You put the blue ethernet cable into the cabinet.
  
  > 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.
  
  > lock the cabinet with the key
  You lock the cabinet. Clever little wallaroo.
  
  > 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.
  
  > put the key in the vent
  Why would you think you can reach the vent from here?
  
  > stand on the stool
  The stool creaks again as you climb onto it.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > stand on the stool
  The stool creaks once again as you climb onto it.
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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?
  
  > 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.)
  
  > 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.
  
  > 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.
  
  > examine the grill
  It's just a metal grid. It's not the kind you can open or close.
  
  > 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.
  
  > stand
  You are already on the stool.
  
  > 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.