The days blend together as a string of occurrences and fantasies. I guess by most people’s definition, I’m normal. I have a decent job, a house, food to eat but something seems to be missing. Everywhere I look, people are doing exciting things, having wild experiences, eating exotic food, dancing in clubs, the list goes on and on, while I sit on my drab couch, watching reruns of Elimidate.

My journeys outside my house become expeditions. Take today for an example, I found a grocery list, laying in a pool of dirty water and I carefully, expertly, recovered the list. Mango, Sole, Basil, Orecchiette, Roasted Pepper, Ecco Domani. I carefully fold the list and placed it in my pocket and hurry home. I sit on the couch, remove the list and read through the ingredients, slowly, savoring each one, dreaming of the fancy dinner party this food would be a part of. My dinning room becomes full of people, sipping wine, telling stories of travels across Europe, while the hostess, dressed in a sexy little outfit brings out the main course of sole and pasta. The ring of the phone awakes me from my fantasy, the people vanish and I go to the kitchen to find a frozen TV dinner to entertain me for the evening.

The next day, on my way home from work, I stumble across an invitation to a house party, it promises music, dancing, fun. I return home and find the comfort of my couch, pull out the invitation and I slowly ponder every inch of it. My mind slips away and my front room is full of people, dancing and having a great time. Smiles, laughs, happiness. I slip deeper into my self made depression. Seeing how great everyone’s lives are. Why am I so normal?

The following day, while eating at the local diner, I find a business card lying beneath the table. I reach down and retrieve it and admire the fine gold embossing, I read the name: Neil Bastin, the title, VP of Operations. At home, I sit on the couch and fantasize about Neil, sitting in his lavish corner office, the office decorated with only the finest merchandise. This guy has it made.

My daydream is interrupted, as the front door swings shut. It was here all along. The scenes from the pervious day flash before my eyes. The fancy dinner party becomes an abusive beer drinking husband, yelling orders at his wife to make dinner faster, get the house cleaner, bring him another beer. The house party, before a bright and festive event, was in a dark, dingy apartment, people were passed out on the floor, an ugly scene. Mr. Bastin sits in his office contemplating suicide from the stress of his job, the office, a normal office, a desk and a chair.

I glance over at the kitchen counter, an envelop ripped open and an official document sitting on top, termination of employment. Outside, placing a suitcase in the trunk of the car, the beautiful women from the dinner party, the cute girl at the house party, my wife. I catch a glimpse of her as she drives away.

End.