Life with Me:

An Exploration of Contempo-Traumatic Stress Disorder


Ever wonder what it's like to live with someone of my effervescent charm? Well, a brief examination of what I did to my roommates should answer all questions.
For one thing, I take pictures of them while they're driving. (My excuse is that we were on vacation in SF and thus obligated to preserve every moment.) This is my longtime roommate Robin.
The same scene, different roomie. (Cress this time.) Note that the reason they both have lollipops is that lollipops were the only items of any value at the awful, awful place I had just made them visit. In my defense, I apologized for at least half an hour.
I also drag them out into moon-filled nights so I can try--and fail--to capture the moment on film. This is one of my more cool-looking screw-ups.
Robin's dog, a Husky, is alleged to have, um, disposed of a skunk in a rather violent fashion. Robin was a bit disturbed by these tidings. So Cress and I made a slight alteration to her stuffed dog in order to provide her some comfort. (The artistry is Cress, the idea is me.)
When I want to finish off a roll of film, I take random photos out the window; when I'm still more desperate, I snap shots of my roommates as they return from brushing their teeth.


That is all I can do, for now, to illustrate the ceaseless joy of cohabitating with myself. Please do not send any requests to have me come live with you. There is only one of me, and my public is too large for me to play favorites. Cope as you must, but refrain from any unseemly displays of grief.

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