Edward Adrift

doubt is in the realm of conjecture. I need facts. I need them as badly as I ever have.
    Also, I don’t think I should keep referring to Sheila Renfro in these notes. It didn’t happen ideally, but I’m gone from there. It’s over. It’s just too painful to think about her.
    (Who am I kidding? I can’t not think about her. But I can try not to write about her, which makes the thinking much more intense and painful.)
    My morning is being dominated by phone calls. That’s not how I’d prefer to spend my morning, but life doesn’t always unfold for us the way we would like. Obviously.
    It starts with good news: Dr. Bryan Thomsen can see me at 1:00 p.m. today, which is three hours and twenty-two minutes from right now. He says he’s eager to hear about my trip, and, as it turns out, I have plenty to tell him.
    I am in no mood for inefficiency today, and I make this clear to Dr. Bryan Thomsen. “Will you be ready promptly at one p.m.?” I ask him.
    “Yes, indeed. One p.m. I’ve written it on my schedule right here.”
    “I know you’ve written it down. You always write it down. What I’m asking is if you’re going to be ready at the appointed time.”
    “Yes.”
    “Because you’ve missed it before.”
    “I have? I guess I don’t recall that.”
    “Seven times,” I say. “I am supposed to see you at ten a.m., and yet we started our session on those seven occasions at 10:01 twice, 10:03, 10:04 three times and, perhaps most egregiously, 10:11.” (I love the word “egregiously.”)
    “Well, I’m terribly sorry about that, Edward. You’re clearly on a mission today.”
    “I’m just trying to sort out the shithouse, Dr. Bryan Thomsen.”
    “I will be ready at one p.m. I give you my solemn word. I’m looking forward to talking about this issue—”
    “Maybe next time. I’m controlling the agenda today. See you at one p.m.”
    I hang up.

    I’ve just crossed Dr. Bryan Thomsen off my to-do list when the phone rings.
    I pick it up. “Yes.”
    “Is that any way to answer the phone?”
    It’s my mother. I wonder if she’s calling to take another chunk of my sovereignty.
    “It’s the way I’m doing it today, Mother. What do you want?”
    “Be nice.”
    “I’m busy, Mother. What do you want?”
    “I just talked to Jay, and he thinks he has a lead on a job for you. Can you swing by his office this afternoon?”
    “No.”
    “It will only take a few minutes.”
    “No. I’m busy. Tell him I’ll come by tomorrow.”
    “He’s really sticking his neck out for you.”
    “Tell him I appreciate it. Tell him I will come by tomorrow.”
    “Why are you being so huffy?”
    “I told you. I’m busy. Is there anything else?”
    “Well, then, perhaps you’re too busy to come by for lunch.”
    “Yes, I am.”
    “Good-bye, then.”
    “Good-bye, Mother.”
    I return to my list. Time is wasting.

    By 11:48 a.m., my list is whittled to a single item: go get my mail from the post office. I can do that one after my appointment with Dr. Bryan Thomsen.
    Gifts for my mother and Kyle will be here in two days. Kyle’s gift was easy—it’s a Tim Tebow jersey, which I promised him. My mother’s gift is something that seems pedestrian (I love the word “pedestrian”), but I read several online gift guides, and apparently this thing is the hot gift for this year—it’s a single-cup coffee brewer called a Keurig. It seems to be an ingenious product. You put something called a K-Cup—this can be virtually any flavor of coffee or tea—into this compartment, close it, and hit a button on the machine. Sharp needles puncture the K-Cup, and hot water is sent coursing through it and into your cup.
    I hope my mother likes it. Just in case, I’ll keep the receipt and tell her how she can ship it back if it doesn’t meet with her approval. Some people take gift-giving personally and become despondent if a gift isn’t enjoyed. I’ve never been that way. It’s justa silly inanimate object. Why should I let it bother me, when so many other things make me legitimately upset?
    I’ll be seeing Dr. Rex Helton tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. I got lucky there; the appointment desk said someone else canceled on him—a common occurrence around the holidays, according to the woman who answered my call—and I was able to slip into the open spot. Otherwise, I’d have had to wait a couple of weeks, the appointment clerk said.
    I can’t imagine that I’ve lost much weight, as infrequent as my exercise has been, but I