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"I think that I will not shave tomorrow." I said to myself as I stared into the bathroom mirror. I then went to bed.

After I woke up late in the morning I went into the washroom and did all the washroom things that I do. I flossed my teeth, rinsed my mouth, urinated, showered and shaved. Yes I shaved. I didn’t have to do anything today. It was labour day and I had no responsibilities. I didn’t even have to see any humans if I didn’t want to. I live alone after all.

After a few hours of mindlessly browsing through the cable channels (I decided that today I would only watch cable TV) I made up my mind to go outside. I went to the washroom and put on my shoes. I then put on my jacket and made sure I had my keys. Then I got twenty dollars out of my room and opened the door of my apartment. I stepped part way through the door way and saw a man that lives two doors down. I quickly ducked back inside.

I couldn’t leave. Today I just couldn’t stand the sight of another human being. I thought I could, I thought I could go out and buy something, or get something to eat but I found myself unable to do so. I thought about dinner.

I wasn’t terribly hungry, but it was six o’clock and the news was on. The CBC always makes me feel like eating, even if I’m not hungry. I checked the coupons on my bulletin board to see if I could save a few dollars on a pizza. I found one for a medium size pizza for the price of a small. I knew I couldn’t eat a whole medium pizza myself but the idea of that five bucks off made me think that I could over a few hours.

I hate tipping. Not in theory, in theory it’s fine and I’m all for it but I can’t tip. I just can’t do it. I don’t know how much to tip, but that’s the least of it. Really my problem is with saying, "Keep the change.". Sometimes I can do that but usually it doesn’t apply. If I have a twenty dollar bill and the pizza is $12.68 I surely can’t be expected to give a nearly eight dollar tip. The pizza place is right next to my building for god’s sake. The delivery boy walked here. I watched him. So instead of tipping I waited quietly as he fished in his pocket for the change. I felt extremely uncomfortable. I told myself, "I’m never ordering pizza again."

I ate two slices.

For several hours I lay still in my bed with Radiohead on. I wasn’t listening to it but it was there and it was making sound. It was also quite loud, so that I couldn’t hear anything outside. I think my neighbour pounded her fist against the wall but I can’t say for sure. I listened to that same CD nearly five times, not once singing along.

I woke up at one o’clock in the morning. At first I thought it was the next day but then I drew back the curtains and realized it was the middle of the night. I had to work in the morning but decided that I would stay up until five in the afternoon.

This time the hallway was empty so I ventured out into the world at ten after one in the morning. It was so quiet. Absolutely perfect. I got into the elevator and went down to the lobby. I got off the elevator and realized I had nothing to do. I didn’t have my money with me and I hadn’t even put my shoes on. I went back up to my apartment and sat on the balcony.

The city is so nice at night, especially when it’s warm. I felt like I could sit there for days just looking at everything and nothing. It was a very surreal experience. I was suffering from sleep deprivation when my alarm clock beeped and told me that it was time to get ready for work. I watched the sunrise that morning. I felt very, very small.

I work at a used bookstore that gets very little business. Also I’m a millionaire. I won the lottery a few years ago and have been living well below my means. I work because if I didn’t I would go mad from boredom. Since I graduated things have been somewhat dull.

I do things to keep myself occupied. Not immediately occupied but over, say, a week. For a month last year, for example, I tried to be nocturnal. I convinced the owner of the store to keep it open twenty-four hours so that I could still work. I overheard her tell a friend that I was an eccentric millionaire. That pleased me greatly. Another time I took a month off and tried to stay awake for a whole week. I used no drugs or caffeine. I was awake for nearly seventy-two hours. I spent a total of 18 hours in the Ontario Gallery of Art, 12 hours at the Royal Ontario Museum, fifteen hours at Ontario Place, sixteen hours in various movie theaters watching action movies I didn’t like, and nine hours at home watching movies I do like. I bought food on the go and ate while I walked. I was very proud of myself.

On my way home from work I was walking behind a man wearing a T-shirt that said on the back, "Ontario Volley-ball Association". The acronym would be OVA. I giggled about that.

Halfway home I stopped and sat on a bench for a while.

I was forced to share an elevator with someone on my way up to my apartment. I thought I could hear her thoughts. She thought that I didn’t look like a millionaire and that I’m crazy for not trying to. She thought that if I tried to look rich women might want to sleep with me. I thought, "Would you sleep with me if I looked rich?". She cleared throat audibly and thought, "No, but others might.". She got off two floors below my floor. I followed her to her apartment and kept walking when she stopped at her door. I then went back outside to buy an expensive suit.

After I came home I just sat on my bed staring at the receipt for the treadmill that would be delivered in a week. I can’t shop for clothes.

I looked over my mail for the week (I tend to read my mail in bursts). I was now five thousand dollars richer than last week. A publisher bought my autobiography. I thought it was very dull but my brother had said, "Maybe someone somewhere would like to read about someone just like them. Or less successful.". I wrote it before I became rich.

I fell asleep listening to a mix tape of Kraftwerk, Walter Carlos, Gary Numan, and experimental music made with Moog synthesizers. I felt like having sci-fi dreams. Instead I ended up dreaming about high school.

The next day my publisher called and suggested that I tour my book around North America. I said that I would. I called the owner of the bookstore and said that I wasn’t going to be working there for quite some time. I didn’t tell her why. After that I called my brother and told him what was happening. He was somewhat excited for me and said that I should call mom. I think he was jealous that my book was being published. Of course he didn’t say so. I met him for drinks an hour later. I had a coke.

I fell asleep with static on my television. I heard somewhere that white noise can do good things to your subconscious. I woke up at four-thirty in the morning. Just like that, with no alarm or anything. I had a meeting with my publishers at one so I decided I’d do some shopping until then. I had a turkey sandwich at a Tim Hortens a couple of blocks away from home. There’s one right across the street from my building but I had to kill some time anyway.

I bought a large suitcase and a neat bike that can be folded in half so that it would fit into the suitcase. I also bought the expensive suit I wanted to buy and some other clothes and a big sheet of plastic to wrap my bike in so I wouldn’t get my clothes dirty. The suitcase had a strap and wheels on it so I just pulled everything around with me until one. Later I decided that I couldn’t wear any of the shirts or pants I bought because I felt guilty about not tipping the guy I bought them from.

At the meeting we discussed the towns I would be visiting and which airlines and hotels I would be using. Then they asked me if there was anywhere I’d like to spend some extra time in. I said, "Nevada". They asked me, "When would you like to be there." And, "For how long". I said it didn’t matter when but, "I’d like to stay there for about a week.". They suggested three days and I said that was fine.

Nevada was beautiful. I rented a car and stayed up for the full three days that I was there. I just drove all around the state filling up with gas when the car needed it and buying bread and sandwich things each morning.

The next week I gave a reading at a Chapters in Vancouver B.C. I kept my eyes open to see if Douglas Coupland was there, but I knew he wouldn’t be. I did see someone from high school though. She said my book made her very sad. That made me think, "Ya, but look at me now!". I cracked a stupid joke about a high school reunion I heard a Stand-up comic in Seattle tell. Then I signed her copy of my book.

On my way to my first book signing I tried to think of what to write on the inside covers. I decided on, "Be seeing you.". I got that from The Prisoner.

When I got back to my hotel in Vancouver I chose to sit in the lobby rather than go up to my room. I saw a number of families and business men check in. I saw bell hops take luggage to rooms. I saw a homeless man get kicked out of the lobby. I saw a woman go into the elevator. I went into the elevator after her. We rode up to her floor which, coincidentally was also my floor and we got off at the same time. I got to my door first. When I looked down the hall before going inside she turned around and looked at me. I thought I could hear her thoughts. She thought, "You look rich." And continued on her way.

When I got back home I told the owner of the store that I was quitting permanently. I went to the home of my brother and told him I was moving to Arizona. I swam in his pool a bit with his kids and had a few drinks with him and his wife later that night. He asked me, "Why are you moving to Arizona, I thought you liked Nevada?". I said, "I do, but I was wrong, Arizona was the desert for me, not Nevada.". He told me I’d have to buy a car.

When I went back to my apartment to pack up my things I shared the elevator with the same woman as last time. I thought I could hear her thoughts. When the elevator stopped at her floor she thought, "Good-bye.". I forgot myself and said out loud, "How did you know I was moving?". She looked at me strangely.

Once I was settled in Arizona I bought a gun and found myself spending a lot of time shooting rocks in the desert