You know you oughta be doing homework the toaster says. Shut up and toast, will you? I say. Yes, things talk to me. Why wouldn’t they? I believe that each object, whatever it is, has a personality, which is probably why they talk to me. People who are accepting are always accepted. At least, that’s how it should be. Quit moping and get this crap out of me, it’s smoking. The toaster whines. You might think it’s surprising that toasters whine, but they do, incessantly. Okay, okay. I say and grab my bagel, I put cream cheese and then jelly on it. Yes, bagels talk too, if you’re wondering, but they don’t mind being eaten. I don’t really know the gory details, but I suppose it feels good, or something like that. I sit down with a book and read. Well, I don’t read, the book reads to me, but I have to turn the pages, and I have to hold the book, because if someone walks in and finds the book just sitting, it’ll seem weird. But the book has a soothing voice, most books do, it sounds like they drink honey before they read to you. Ironically, horror books have creepy voices, which is why I don’t like horror books. Mom walks in. Dale, how was your day? she asks Bellow average. I say, the book is yelling at me for not paying attention, I’m trying to get back to it. Uhuh she says. She’s not listening, there’s something aggravating about it, but really I don’t care about much other than my book. Hey, listen, honey, there’s this new doctor I want you to see. She says. Oh. Here it comes. Oh? I say, not at all interested. Doctors are doctors, and I don’t really care about them or need them. I’m not at all crazy. I’m just abnormally open minded. Dale, honey, please. She says. I don’t know why she feels like she needs to plead with me, it’s not like I defy her or anything. Your father and I would really like you to talk to her. she sits down, which is how I know she’s serious. My father and you never want the same thing. But if it’s what you want. Then fine. I say Can I go back to reading now? I ask. Okay. she said, and walked away.

Doctors, doctors, doctors, why do they want you to see more doctors? You’re not crazy or anything. The fact that they think you are, well that’s crazy. My desk, Daffy (short for Daffodil, if you‘re wondering), who happens to be my best friend says, rather enraged. I think it’s funny how upset he is for me, really I don’t care. The doctors just ask me about things and dreams and Daffy and really it doesn’t matter, because they give me pills, which I don’t take, and nothing changes, it might be a waste of time, but I have nothing better to do. Daf, I don’t care, they’re not going to change anything. I say. Barry (my dresser) scoffs Always the optimist, which is really ironic seeing that you’re clinically depressed. Daffy scolds Barry I’m not depressed, I’m just less enthusiastic about everything. I say. Tell that to the new doctor. Barry grunts. I roll my eyes and Daffy laughs. Barry’s kind of full of it.

So, Dale, tell me about you. Dr. Kass is young, either young enough to relate or too young to have experience, I can’t tell. What do you mean? I ask, bored. Your mom told me that things talk to you. What kind of things? she says. Like, toasters, my dresser, food, books. I say. She obviously thinks I’m crazy, but I’m not. Why? she asks Why? I repeat. Yeah, why do they talk to you, why not me? She asks. I wonder if she’ll be offended by my answer. Because, I’m accepting, I’m open minded, I have no preconceived notions of anything, no expectations. I say. Why is that? she asks. I guess I’m just special, are you going to give me more pills? I ask. I don’t know. Do they tell you to do anything bad? she asks, I’m not ten, I think. No. Why would they do that? I ask. I don’t think you’ll be needing medication. Thanks Dale.