My wife drove back to Iowa with our dog for two weeks to see her family, leaving me to fend for myself. I kept an activity log of my time for posterity’s sake.
DAY 1: Saw rest of party off to new adventure. Manning homestead solo now. Supplies are in good shape. Spirits high, if a little tired. Unsure where this clean serving dish goes. Made friends with 3 bugs, all of which are dead now. Haven’t worn pants since 11 am.
DAY 3: Spilled beer on a pillowcase and tossed it in a corner for “later” (unsure what that even means anymore). Have taken up permanent residence on the couch, effectively shutting off the second floor altogether. Woke up in hot sweat, glued to leather couch. Thermostat has now learned its lesson. Spirits remain high.
DAY 4: America’s Independence Day. Celebrated by sleeping in until 8:30. Ate leftover pizza crusts for breakfast because FREEDOM. Attempt at washing the sheets is under way. Staving off urge to begin daydrinking. Something smells like ham.
DAY 5: Think I set a landspeed record for “fastest a pair of pants has been taken off upon coming home from work.” Foraged for food in the depths of the pantry; may have eaten a gnome by mistake. Ham smell is spreading, as though airborne. Are there such things as ghost pigs? Am I being haunted by ghost pigs? Or is it “pig ghosts?”
Must stay vigilant against dementia.
DAY 6: : Have made it to the weekend in one piece. Also may resort to wearing one-piece through the next two days waiting for laundry to assemble itself. Mixed news about ham smell: while I have managed to avoid dementia, I can now confirm the pig ghosts are real. Tricked at least two into the extra bedroom by whispering “booie!” into the a/c vent (it’s the supernatural swine call). Locked door and shut vent, awaiting reinforcements.
DAY 7: Sold an office chair on Craigslist this morning; had to hold the sale outside the front door so the buyer wouldn’t flee in terror of an all-cardboard box furniture set in the living room. Caveat emptor indeed.
No word from apparitions. Attempted to purge all spirits with a YouTube playlist of nothing but Petey Pablo and Fat Joe, but only resulted in an impromptu solo dance party. May have started drinking at noon. Spirits remain high.
DAY 8: Alarm did not go off this morning and I poked myself in the eye. These two things were unrelated. Went to eat lunch at a place called “The Berkeley Cafe,” which sounds charming until you see that it looks like a bowling alley bar where men hide from their wives.
I had the small tossed salad. It was clearly a mistake.
Upon arriving home, I discovered I forgot my laptop cord shortly before spilling an entire drink on the carpet.
Spirits are dipping. May try to crawl into the couch until tomorrow.
DAY 9: Alarm went off this morning but made no sound. As this is the second day in a row for this phenomenon, I’m left with no choice but to blame the pig ghosts; once thought dormant or at least contained, it seems my new apparition roommates fashion themselves as “merry pranksters.”
We’ll see how merry they feel when I summon my hog farmer priests.
DAY 10: Drank 1 and a half 5-hour Energies at work to combat “that 3:30 feeling.” Finally have the vigor to do something about this unexplained mess. Instead, had pizza and cookies for dinner BECAUSE I’M AN ADULT; brother says I’m living “like a death row inmate.”
Packed up the TV antenna last week in preparation for a move that won’t happen for another 2 months. No All-Star Game, so I took off my pants, put on Braveheart, grabbed 6 beers and folded laundry. LIKE A GENTLEMAN.
DAY 11: At work, discovered that our wifi extends all the way to the 3rd stool from the right in the bar next door. With nothing but a a possibly pig-haunted empty house to return home to at the close of business each day, have now committed to making this my new workspace.
On first-name basis with every bartender — does this mean they’re my new family now? Do we pay taxes together? Are they Christmas Morning or Christmas Eve present people? Am I on their life insurance plan? If something tragic happens to them, do I benefit?
NEVER MIND I’M NOT THINKING ABOUT ANYTHING ILLEGAL! I LOVE MY NEW FAMILY! YOU CAN’T PROVE ANYTHING JOURNAL!
In high spirits again.
DAY 12: Desperately missing human contact. Burly Russian man in tank-top invaded my personal space while standing in front of me in line at post office; may have nestled into his wooly backfat as a tired cub does to its mother.
Attempting to salve the wound of loneliness by constructing cuddle-buddies out of empty beer cans and paper towels. First prototype lacks proper arms and legs but is serviceable. Will name her Toni Braxton.
Ham smell has returned and with it, faint squeals in the dark.
Must remain vigilant.
DAY 13: Toni Braxton confessed she’s lonely without more of her kind. Constructed 3 more beer-can-and-paper-towel cuddle-buddies for a complete circle of friends. Kimmy Gibbler and Stephanie Tanner are not developing the rapport I thought they would. Toni meanwhile has become fast friends with Olympia Dukakis; strange bedfellows indeed.
Ham squeals are becoming more common. Beginning to fear for my safety and the safety of those I love — though they are made of 100% recyclable materials and I am not, must not sacrifice their safety in the event of pig ghost assault.
DAY 14: I have barred the puppy gate to the stairs, but can not hold them for long. I cannot get out. They have taken the Kitchen and the Second Hallway. Kimmy and Stephanie and Olympia fell there. The ham smell is up to the wall at the stairwell. The Watcher in the Downstairs Bathroom took Toni. I cannot get out. The end comes. Drums, drums, drums and squeals in the deep. They are coming. They are coming…