I can’t right now, because I have to look up ex-girlfriends and people I knew back in high school on the Internet and find out that one guy I knew has a band now and the band played at a tavern called Nita’s Hideaway in Tempe, Arizona in May of 1997.

I’m going to be late, because I’m doing a thing where I try to get the tip of a dried-out marking pen to fit through a paper clip and then balance on the edge of the top drawer of my desk.

Not tonight, because I’m in the living room trying to get up from sitting on the couch in a cross-legged position, only I have to do it without using my hands, and then I have to go all the way to the kitchen without touching the floor. So, basically I’ll be walking across the couch then onto the chair, then across that small table, and then jumping from the table into the kitchen.

I would, but I’m doing the thing where I stand in front of the fridge eating ravioli from the plastic container, too lazy to boil and heat them, and then I have to go sit in the living room feeling bored and sick.