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Life A
The big problem was that he sort of kind of like, well, you know, liked her.
Which was causing all sorts of problems for him, the least of which what she would think about the "dead guy" (as he was thinking of himself these days) having a crush on her.
And she wrote articles about gardens. And he was probably some sort of criminal. He didn't think those two professions necessarily mixed, really.
In one of the closets, one down from the initial one his dog went crazy in, ripping towels out and around the house just before his untimely death, the dog had apparently not stopped when his owner had sort of unintentionally fled the corporeal plane and all of that and had torn into this closet which had, at one time, housed a lot of important papers in different old shoe boxes.
The dog had gotten ahold of his filing system and spread it all over the inside of the closet, plastering it in certain places with spittle or some other magic dog paste they use when no one's looking. Now, it wasn't like he could ever find anything before in his shoe box filing system. In fact, thinking about it, he couldn't remember if he'd ever tried. He just shoved tax forms, pay cheque slips, bills, receipts, the whole mess was jammed into shoe box after shoe box, with either an subconscious plan to go through it later and organise it or the slightly less subconscious plan to just ignore it and hope he never had to dig into the boxes ever.
And now he was looking for one of the series of boxes he'd thought to label in an ambitious fit of getting his life together, just about the time he'd gotten a life insurance policy out and some other thing that might have protected him, financially, if he got sick, but he wasn't sure, it might have just been the brochure and not an actual policy in that last case. The actual content of the label wasn't quite so important, just that it was one of the two or maybe three he'd labeled in the hopes that it would become a trend and that eventually he'd get in the practise of it and begin using labels that corresponded to the stuff he'd put in the box and maybe all have some relevance to each other.
The dog just sort of sat there, watching. He seemed almost proud.
disclaimer:
All right, so after last week's adventure with a brand new writer we're trying out, this is a sneak peek at some of Sleep(s) on Chickens, my own stuff, as I'm sure quite a lot of you have heard. I've been buckled down this week, trying to finish it for everyone's sanity. I'm being let out briefly, apparently, to visit MacExpo UK (wow, what a treat, eh? I get to hang around a bunch of geeks and more cool looking machines than I really need, to be honest), and then I'm back in, slaving away at Sleep(s), which is proceeding at the pace of a very dead snail.
Eh, pressure.
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