You ever wake up in the middle of the night in some STR room? And you stumble to the bathroom in the dark. But you can't find the light switch, even though your brain knows exactly where it should be: 1) right around the corner from the door jam... 2) about 49.5 inches from the floor... 3) covered by a cheap plastic wall plate, that your fingers instantly recognize, no matter how tired, or jetlagged, or drunk you are. And so you rub your hand up and down the wall, and up and the wall, touching the hair dryer, and the electrical socket, and a wet towel— the one you washed your face with the night before. And you keep sweeping the stucco in awkward semi-circles, like those old guys on the beach, waving their metal detectors back and forth, like giant metal phalluses, searching the sand for precious bottle caps and fugitive quarters. Until finally you just give up... Who puts light switches on the outside of the bathroom, anyway??!!... And you pee in the dark... Hoping to hear the tinkle of porcelain and not the splash of tile. Well, that's what I feel like most days. I'm just groping for what i know ought to be there. But I can't seem to find it any more. And that's the truth. (I mean that literally.)
The Alternative Pick, 14th Annual Edition
