Evidence

As you can tell from today’s picture, I’m extremely tired from another character builder of a week. And you can tell from today’s picture I store my stress in my double chin.

Every night this week I’ve crept into the house well after everyone is asleep. Grover greeted me with his usual fanfare. “You came back! My odor didn’t drive you away for good,” his leaping and clawing at my flesh seemed to say.

But other than a giant black fur ball, I had no contact with the team. But after closer inspection, I found evidence that my special lady and special guy still knew I was alive.

On top of the TV, Diana would leave me a carefully rationed glass of wine and a plate of cookies. As I sat on the floor to quietly watch a tapped episode of “The Daily Show,” I’d remark on the fact that Cabernet Sauvignon really brings out the flavor of chocolate chips. Santa Claus should get in on that action on Christmas Eve. But I guess by the fourth house he’d be clipping chimneys with his sleigh.

And even with Diana’s OCD, I’d also notice late night evidence of Elijah: Stereo askew. TV covered with fingerprints. Milk soaked into our carpet. Hole punched in the drywall.

But I’d also find what I think were messages from him. Like my copy of the Steve Martin film, “The Jerk” stuffed under the couch. Everyone’s a critic. Or my bike lock shoved under the TV. Which I assume is an editorial about my recent weight gain. The shredded toilet paper on the roll was clearly an expression of rage against my late hours. Or an expression of rage against toilet paper.

Luckily I got to spend 4 minutes with him this morning before heading to work for the Saturday shift. I did catch a glimpse of him looking at my stomach and then looking under the TV.