Bite Your Teeth Into The Ass of Life

And I have done this, oh yes, with such ferocity that I can hardly move my lips to mouth the words I write on the page. Ass of Life runoff drips from my beaming smile. It tastes sweet and airy, like I imagine ass souffle would taste. It tastes like triumph.

And so it should, for if I were to wear a sandwich board today it would say "triumph" in big bold letters astride an arrow pointing directly to my glowing head.

I quit my job.

Oh, you knew it was coming. I was a sort of ticking time-bomb in this place, one that was set to go off before long (and one that, upon detonation, would not explode, but merely deflate and fizzle away into a hazy obsucrity), and sure enough, as we ring in the New Year, so do I ring in my liberation.

And boy, is that not all: because on March 17th I shall open two new plays to the lesser Los Angeles theatre going community, something I'm thinking of titling "I'm back, #!@@&: An Evening with Andy Hyman," and so before long, after my gradual disappearance from the office is complete, I can get to work. REAL work. Work to which I actually have some connection. I am the H.Y.M.A.N. Commander once again. I am strong. I am powerful. I am virtually unstoppable.

So why, you may ask, am I sitting at home, hiding from the world, on a mid-Monday morning?

Well, there are two answers to that question. The first is, that I'm not. That today is actually Wednesday, and I am sitting at work. However:

The fact of the matter is, that were I to travel through time, as I am able to do (we'll get back to this another time; for now, take my word for it), back to two days ago, Monday, I would find myself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, having already called into the office to inform them that the rockslide outside my apartment has blocked my path to the subway station and will prevent me from being at work today to fill my beloved duties of phone-answering, coffee-making, mail-opening, and time-wasting, not to mention mind-reading, genital-shifting, and mood-lightening.

And about this last item: I've realized, that although I must do it, it is a very selfish thing for me to leave this office, for I am I believe wholly responsible for the daily smiles on the faces of my coworkers. It takes a great strength of will to look at oneself objectively, but while lying in bed on Monday, warm, happy and out of the rain, happy about the rockslide and the BMW it had buried, a rockslide that on its own like a wall of dirt moving not only through physical space but temporal space as well managed to crush away 1/8 of my remaining time at work, I was of course able to telepathically teleport my overpowering brainwaves to the office and catch a glimpse of what seemed a dire pall cast over the spirit of those who work around me. And surely enough, when I returned the next day, the revitilization of those poor folks was instant; a spring came back to their step and the brightness flooded their eyeballs, just as the rosiness returned to their cheeks.

"Jeez, gosh, Andy," said one of the architects, his hands folded modestly in his lap. "Where were ya? Thingswre really blue withoutcha yesterday..."
"I know, I'm sorry," I told him, patting him on his scruffy little head. "Couldn't be helped, little buddy. Act of God. Force of nature. Just like the tornado that took Dorothy." His eyes widened with wonder.
"Really? Like in the movie 'n all? Wow, musta been real exciting!"
"It sure was," I assure him, "It suuuuuure was. Hey, maybe one day we'll go to a park and take a kite out and I'll show you how nature works in the first place. Would you like that?" He nods his head so furiously his chair knocks over his set of drafting pencils.

"Andy, where've you BEEN?" asks my boss, the office manager. "Gosh, you know how crazy things can get when you're not here." Then she stops and thinks. "Well, actually, I...I guess you don't. Ha ha!" I tell her nothing about the fact that I witnessed it first-hand from my warm, comfortable, vaginal apartment the day before. "Anyway, we sure coulda usedya. Everybody always gets so sad when you're not around, and...and...well, I...Andy, please don't leave! You can't, you can't leave us! What'll we do without you????" She hugs me and buries her head in my firm chest.
"There, there," I comfort her. "It'll be okay. Soon, there'll be a new receptionist, and he'll be just as good as I am. Soon, you won't even remember me." She recoils.
"No! No! I don't want anybody new! I don't WANT anybody new! Andy, I don't WANT anybody new! That's not fair! Andy, you're not fair!"
"Aww, don't be sad. I'll come back and visit. I promise." I wipe the tear from her cheek, and she looks up at me, all sad-eyed.
"You...you promise...?"
I offer her a reassuring smile.
"Promise. Hey. Kiddo."
My smile shifts from reassuring to heartwarming.

David and Brenda, grand poobahs of the office, skip up to my desk.
"Andy do you really--"
"--have to leave and we want you to know we really--"
"--missed you yesterday everybody was really--"
"--sad and we were both really--"
"--sad and we wanted you to know that we both really--"
"--want you to stay and if you really--"
"--want to stay you can stay it's okay we both think it's really--
"--okay."
They bounce on their heels in alternating beats. I try to look stern, but I can't help but grin a little bit. They see my grin and look at each other, excited. "Guys," I say. "Guys. Now we talked about this. What did Andy tell you?"
"Awwwwww, but--"
"Awwwwww, but--"
"Andy!" they both plead at the same time.
"I know. I know. It's hard. But remember that talk, that we had about loss...? And what that means...?"
"Yeeeaah," but they're not convinced.
"Don't worry. This is one of those days, where the future looks dark and gray."
"You mean just like it--"
"--did yesterday when you--"
"--weren't here?" I nod.
"Exactly like that. It's going to be lonely at times."
"Like it is when--"
"--we can't hear your--"
"--pretty voice?" I feel their love in my heart, and it makes me sad to have to do this.
"Yeah, uh huh. But what did we say we were going to do when this happens?"
They think.
"Uh...smile?" I turn my head to the other one.
"Smile?"
And I smile.
"You got it." They catch on, and start to smile themselves.
"Yaaaaaaaaaaaaay!!!!"

And even with all this warmth, I lied in bed on Monday, and got up to watch TV, and still managed, like the evil, heartless person I really am under the just-displayed facade of caring and warmth, to enjoy myself. Because, fuck it.

It's a new year.
It's the beginning of a new era.
2004 has passed in all it's stagnancy, confusion, and a haze that may or may not be legitimately described as "drug-riddled," and on a rainy Monday I could see the beautiful future stretching out in front of me, off into the interminable distance, where at the end I saw the shadows of people, one of which had my figure, frolicing in orgiastic delight. And I never believed much in the personal significance of the switch-over to a new calendar year, but this time it seems different. I move a little more quickly through time in space. And I have bitten my teeth into the ass of life.

I'm pretty sure nothing can stop me, except the grand piano dangling from a peice of twine a flight above my head on which Moses Josh plays a lullabye, providing the soothing tune and the welcome shade for my much-needed rest.