I Am Trying To Write A Novel

Will you turn down the sound on that Gameboy? Will you put your own plate in the sink? Will you pick up that carrot? Will you go and watch a movie on television? Will you please go to your room? Will you consult the internet instead? Could some strong person of able mind let the miserable goddamn cat out? Will you please stop asking me? Would you mind not doing that? Does anyone else in this room smell that baby’s diaper? Can you stop pacing? Can you stop reading over my shoulder, every time you pace past me? Can you take your phone conversation somewhere else? Do you really need me for that? Can you stop singing? Can you stop humming? Can you stop clicking?

I do not want to read the email you sent me. I do not want to talk to you on the phone. I do not want to cook anything for you. I do not want to check out The Onion’s riff on the new Pope. I don’t want to be asked anything. I don’t want to report anything. I don’t want anyone to call me or speak to me or touch me for thirty consecutive minutes.