hey you great big snufalufs! i wrote this essay a couple years ago. here it is again, now with AUDIO of my reading it which you can listen to. I did it all in one take and may have gotten very emotional at the end of it so if you wanna listen to that, have at it.

if you want to cowrite with other weirdos for accountability, camaraderie and all around good time cheer, there are BATWRITEs today at 330pm est (starting 30 min earlier than originally planned) and Thursday at 10am est. Would love to see you there obviously. Sign up here.

k here it is ya f*lthy an*mals:

My parents call a lot. And I don’t mean that they call every day, though they do that too.

I mean that they call, and if I don’t answer, they call again…and again…and then also again.

At some point between the calls, which can be spaced out by moments or hours depending on the markets, my dad’ll hit me with a text that reads: 

?

By which I think he means ‘hey just called you’ but reads more like every millennials second worst text-message nightmare right behind the kiss of death itself, “ok.”

Which, for the record, my dad also employs liberally throughout our SMS communiques.

Twenty minutes and at least one more missed call later, another text:

?????

And then, just in case I'd set up a “don’t let any texts through unless they have a minimum of ten question marks in them” filter, a third message:

????????????????????

Being reasonable people, my parents will then make sure to wait at least one USA-length minute before switching into Operation Code Red and text my wife Lauren with a simple and friendly:

Hi Lauren. How are you guys?

Which, in Dobrenkese, means “Hi Lauren we can’t reach Alex are you and him both alive plz confirm.”

Lauren will respond with something like:

Hi yes everything’s good.

Which translates in Laurenese to “I’ll tell Alex to call you.”

She’ll look up and see me a few feet away, lying down on the rug with our two year old son Wilder playing a really simple game called “all the tiny animals dive off the the firetruck ladder into the pool that’s also a bowl with almonds, then all the animals take naps (he and I nap too) until he screams WAKE UP and we all wake up and do it all over again.”

And yes, my phone will be right there next to me BUT in my defense: 1) it’s face down and 2) I have all sounds and notifications turned off because I’m a dopamine-addled rat whose low self-esteem fails to find validation in the slot-machine reward system of the so called “smart phone” even though really I’ve never seen the thing do anything all that smart like meditate or find a mentor or invest in an IRA.

“Al, call your parents,” Lauren will say and I’ll pick up my phone, see ‘Missed Call - Dad Cell (7)’ along with this question mark mountain -

?

?????

????????????????????

— and tell Lauren to play the almond bowl pool nap game so I can call my dad back. He and my mom answer together with a harried hello.

“Hi?” I say back, readying myself for this being about nothing serious whatsoever since I know they do this all the time.

""We tried calling you a bunch," they say as if it’s new information.

"I know I saw. I was away from my phone. What's up?"

"Nothing," they respond, casual as a Friday. "Is everything okay?"

"No, everything is not okay," I say.

"What?" they ask, in that vindicated, of-course-it's-not-ok-this-is-why-we-call kind of way.

What's not ok, dear mama, dear papa, is you being one step away from filing a missing persons report every time I'm away from my phone for longer than 92 minutes aka the runtime of the classic film Home Alone. At least gimme the Godfather-length benefit of the doubt -- two hours, 55 minutes - that’s all I ask!

This whole dog and pony show happens a lot, and ya know what, I do not like it. I don’t like the second-hand panic, the first-hand guilt of not being a good enough son, and I certainly do not like how my subconscious interprets the calls, i.e. ‘we don’t trust that you can exist out in the world without dying so we need to call often to ensure that you haven’t, ya know, died. Oh you’re alive, good…how’s the weather it’s really hot here.’

Trying to change them is futile. Whenever I explain how their behavior is likely grounds for some sort of ‘adult child of stalker parents’ restraining order, they clap back with the ultimate parental mortal kombat finishing move — "you'll understand when you have kids."

Except it didn’t work. We had a son and he’s two now and still I don’t understand not even a little.

"You'll understand when you have grandkids," my dad then says and ya know what, you gotta hand it to him – if nothing else, even when paranoid and insane, the man is funny. See also: the brashness of the ten question marks, at once both a meta-commentary the inadequacy of technology-mediated communication AND a perfect encapsulation of the abject fear he must have been feeling at that moment. A Mozart of his day. Our day. A Mozart of our day. 

Point is – the whole thing is absurd and infuriating and I won’t ever be that way with Wilder or his kids or anyone. No way, never, get real. Dream on. Good luck cashing that ticket because no. Not gonna happen. Not me. I’m different and mature. The buck stops here. The buck stopped. The buck shan’t move again. Don’t even think about it because no.

A couple weeks ago 

It’s 410pm and I’m on the stationary bike in our dedicated workout room / lauren’s piano room / lauren’s office / our bedroom. I’m watching the HBO show Barry on the iPad — Season 4, mid-season — and I’m cruising. Lauren went to go pick up Wilder from daycare and is taking him to a playground until 5pm when my shift as Primary Caretaker will begin. Life is good.

I text her to see how it’s going and get back to my riding. Barry is getting intense, the show just did a — spoiler alert I guess? idk why this is my responsibility but whatever — big time jump into the future and now Barry has an eight year old kid with Sally. They live in the middle of nowhere in a giant field and he’s teaching her how to use a gun because he has to leave for LA for a classic one last job kill someone situation.

I check my phone again and see that Lauren hasn’t responded. Weird but no big. I text again.

Five minutes later, really going fast on the bike now, I check again no response weird but sorta big actually as I realize I haven’t heard from her since picking up Wilder hmmmm oh wait I know I’ll just check her location which, as married people, we’ve set to share with one another FOR LIFE (its in the vows).

Her little LW icon pops up on the map and it’s…at our house?

I scan the entire house, visible from my perch on the bike, but do not find her. Wait, the map says "Location last shared 5 hours ago” which is wrong because I saw her like an hour ago? No big deal. I'll call her. I'll say hello and then i can rewind Barry because I'm missing some pretty violent s**t on there right now is there an intruder in their house dressed in all black skin suit covering his face and body and my call goes straight to voicemail?

That lady who does the auto voicemail message starts her whole ‘the person you are trying to reach’ s**t as I try to think this through: why wouldn't she answer the texts why is the phone off she always keeps her phone charged why isn't her location updating did somethign happen somethign happened is she okay is Wilder okay?

beeeep

I hang up before leaving a voicemail, not wanting to be desperate or crazy because obviously I’m not.

Hang up, call again. STRAIGHT TO VM.

S**t where did she say they were going which playground not the one by the house because they drove –

beeeep

Hang up, call again. STRAIGHT TO VM.

If the phone was charged and now its off that means she either turned it off which never happens

Hang up, call again. STRAIGHT TO VM.

or what else there's no other options besides a car crash holy s**t they got into a car crash and the phone got wrecked and now its off and It isn't updating location oh f**k

Hang up, call again. STRAIGHT TO VM.

Hang up, call again. STRAIGHT TO VM.

Hang up, call again. STRAIGHT TO VM.

Hang up, call again. STRAIGHT TO VM.

Hang up, call again. STRAIGHT TO VM. F**K.

I turn up the difficulty on the bike because pain is gain so I’m pushing harder and can’t really breathe, sweat pooling on my chin before dropping onto the hardwood floor in little puddles of mess. The intruder in Barry just crashed into the house with his truck what the f**k I need to rewind but first I try to text and I can’t because of all the sweat all the words are garbled so I just sent it with typos:

“Bheyeyri aerate you oukjjjy”

Ok just calm down Alex everything is fine send another text

“sorryy just havnt heard from you lemme know you’re okaaaay”

what time is it 425 okay good what time were they supposed to be back 5 yes ok 5 that’s in no time

Which is how everything feels right now like there is no time because they really can’t be dead I really can’t live without them like actually no joke what the f**k

I keep refreshing Lauren's location but there's nothing just the same b******t from 5 hours ago that says she's here in the house which is where I would really love for her to be thanks a lot Apple dipshit f*****g surveillance state phone its because we know too much that we fear too much cavemen d