Occasionally, I'll write things down. A blank sheet suddenly becomes riddled with things I've written; some of them crossed off, some of them in Spanish, some printed, some cursive. At this point, I take the sheet, and quickly flip it over. I usually leave the sheet alone – I'll take a walk, go for a swim, or eat some papaya. As I walk back to the sheets place, I start to rehearse the remainder of my practice. I've gathered a few materials: One egg (typically boiled), a bakers dozen tire valve caps, some glue (any adhesive really) and a nice cloth to hold them in place. As I arrive, the sheet has remained still, the scribbles lay dormant and domestic. Excellent. I quietly place my materials on the wayside of the table and inspect the sheet for inconsistencies. I make note that the sheet has passed inspection with a grade of B minus.

At this point, I usually open a window [†] – however, due to the circumstances that I have found myself in, I must open another orifices. I move the table carefully, with my collections and the sheet remaining as they initially lay. I remove the rug, non-slip pad, and find the iron latch that would open a small cedar door to the wine cellar. This was not an ideal solution; but a solution that has been rehearsed before.

As I stand upright, I notice the paper has continued to lay still; raising suspicion, causing anxiety amongst my collection of tools. I make a note of this. Now, as the air from the cellar has risen into the room, I take note of the time: 19:33, three minutes behind schedule due to the divergence from the window, to the cellar. I recall my position, Step 62 of the process. After confirming, I may move onto the final step, completion. I once heard that if you're going to arrange colorful flowers into a bouquet, you should always include a fistful of white flowers. The white flowers will make the colored flowers even more vibrant, beautiful, and deep.

My white flowers lay on this table, ready for their color filled counterparts. In moments like these, I must preform with precision, iron focus, and grace.

I move toward the table quickly, misstep, and fall sharply into my cedar encompassed hovel. The door, 15 feet above me, remains open. I shout for assistance; coming to the realization that the Dr. Garcia, Lieutenant Davidson, or even Patches, the office feline would not be able to assist me until the following morning. At this point, I noted my thirty third successive failure. Reason for failure: Physical miscalculation, Location: Cellar, time: 19:42. I search my person, revealing that I have brought an old sheet with me. Unfolding the sheet revealed a small, sharp laboratory pencil. These are my writings.


† - It was raining with an intensity that would prohibit the window from articulating fully