12:12 p.m. - Saturday, Jul. 26, 2003
They had been very busy, indeed. They had already cleared away the old railroad and started installing a new one, but a completely reconfigured one, as well as a street. Just beyond the street were houses, already! Already, while I slept! My back fence was only a small wrought-iron thing, inadequate to keep the animals in (especially when I left the gate open, as I had just done). The railroad had brought suburbia to my back yard. I had to start thinking about how to cope.
But I had only to look back at my house to see worse things: while I slept, the workers had run a new railroad line right through my house. They had clumsily hacked away part of the walls to allow the trains to run through, but the shell of my house still surrounded the railroad -- it ran under my roof and between my walls. The tracks stretched far away, all the way to Valparaiso, I'm sure.
I went back into the house to try to find my family. Snow had poured in. The front door was a revolving door. A kitten . . . a man who couldn't decide what he wanted to do with his life . . . looking at his sunglasses, I told him that he was perhaps too creative to go back to college. I still had the laundry to do. We had been having so much fun playing -- whatever it was we were playing, charades, or something -- why did my family leave and not tell me? Are they coming back?