Apr 22, 2025

A Laminated Confidence

I am humanely farmed for artisanal sweat and passive-aggressive retorts. This is not rhetorical. This is how my children see me. I put my head in my hands and reboot into safe mode.

I spent a couple of minutes contemplating a shadow’s emotional life. It must be confusing. After my last diagnostic, I was told to disable all my unnecessary services. Some of the necessary ones, too.

In a dream, I am hoisted atop the back of an unsuspecting, well-regarded tortoise. Its shell has a rich, distracting quality: like confidence, if it were laminated. We take the scenic route, and where we disembark, we are greeted by piñatas and large breasts.

By the time I looked up, the children had vanished. I have apparently been appointed Regional Coordinator of The International Suspicion Exchange. My business cards arrived immediately.

A ferret in a trench coat appears from the negative space between objects. He hands me a manila envelope. Inside:
• A map of the known shortcuts between here and a formal collapse.
• A single titanium cufflink, warm to the touch, and disconcerting.
• A blank check, drawn on the account of RAID 1: the Bank of Reflected Failures.

I check my watch. It is a sundial. Indoors.

A man in a suit approaches, gently airlifted by contingency pigeons. He asks if I have brought my own beer. I ask if he has brought his own existential crisis. We share a laugh and a cry. We shake hands and forget whose fingers belong to whom.

By evening, I have successfully replaced myself. An approved facsimile entertains the room while I crouch behind the coat rack, preparing to make my getaway. It’s all going according to plan. I crawl on the floor to confirm the existence of my knees. A mirror catches a reflection, but it is not mine.

Somewhere, in the distance, a phone rings. It has my other number.