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let’s face it, I hope it’s not a fad but an accepted addiction that will never be socially demonized—this “system” will not be obsolete.It’s also a hot-water-on-demand machine! Good strategizing, if you ask me. It’s too heavy to move, so at least it’s also capable of emitting scalding hot water.
    I bought it so I’d stay home more. I bought it instead of getting a pet. It’s the closest thing to a living being without actually breathing or needing health insurance.
    It speaks to me in concise phrases, without prolonged sentences that are weighed down with “ya know” and “at the end of the day” and “basically” and “um” and “like”—which I really appreciate. “Fill water tank. Fill coffee beans.” It’s direct and to the point. It’s one of the most uncomplicated and rewarding relationships I enjoy.
    In fact, it was so uncomplicated that I was tempted to complicate it. I wondered, in the wee hours, after my new baby had been unpacked and readied for coffee making in the A.M .—whether the other appliances would be territorial? Jealous? For such a new appliance it certainly was receiving an undeserved amount of space. Of course, the refrigerator wouldn’t be able to complain about that! Although the microwave would have a legitimate gripe. Even I recognize that with all of these imaginings, I’m going well out of my way to avoid my internal life. But recognizing it doesn’t negate it!
    One way I could give my internal life a leg up is by having only one newspaper delivered. But which one would it be? Do I want the Wall Street Journal more than I want Page Six of the Post ? And on the day I have the time to read the whole Sunday Times , will that be the first day I don’t havehome delivery of the Gray Lady? The price of abundance, I’m learning, is constant indecision.
    I’m about to enjoy some frothy milk and coffee, read Page Six and at least the front page of the Times, when the phone rings.
    I look at the coffee machine, in hopes that it might indicate whether or not I should answer the phone. A modern Magic 8-Ball. It doesn’t reassure me, so I don’t answer. I wait, try to stick to the plan—read my paper, drink my coffee, breathe. Then I play the message.
    â€œTonight,” Sam says, “if we’re out of there at a reasonable hour, I think we should do…something.” His voice is sleepy and subdued enough for me to wonder if he’s sleep-dialing—acting on some fantasy—and won’t remember he’s called.
    â€œI’ve been up since four o’clock waiting for it to be almost six o’clock so I could call you. I just miss you, and I’m really fucking lonely,” Sam says. “Lately, when I think about you, and lately it seems like I can’t stop—of course it doesn’t help that I see you every day—I don’t even think about anything great. I keep thinking about that week we were working together in L.A.
    â€œThat night I knew you were awake in your room and you wouldn’t open the door. And outside of your door I left some steak that the guy at the restaurant wrestled into the shape of a swan. I thought you’d think it was really funny and come looking for me. Every time I think of that I feel like such a jackass. I gave you leftover meat in a fuckingtin-foil swan. Why did I think you’d respond to that?”
    It’s the call I’d been waiting for. What is the worst thing that could have happened if I’d answered the phone? Or opened that door? I would have to live my life.
    He was right, of course. I was in my hotel room, worrying what hypothetical and amazing thing might happen next, yet afraid to find out. I waited twenty minutes before venturing into the hallway to see what Sam left. The swan. There’s only one person in the world who would try to seduce a woman with