Adventures on the Edge
by Jonathan Penton

It is 3:30 in the morning on April the third and I still haven't finished the April update for Unlikely Stories. Even after I finish this essay, I'll have to code the works of Shane Jones, then update the author and title indexes and the contact information. After that, I'll still have to edit and code articles from the Sub-commandante and Derick. Tomorrow, I must finish an essay on Internet literature for another magazine, and I have two more essay deadlines now within easy visible distance.

I believe I am going insane.

Further evidence that I am going insane, besides the amount of work I place on myself, and the fact that I party for days at a time, then pull repeated all-nighters, like a college freshman, which I'm not and never really was, includes the fact that I'm on an increasing number of psychiatric drugs each week, and my hands tremble as though I had Parkinson's disease (I'm turning 25 this month).

I was at a birthday party this evening, at times that are now yesterday, and told a woman that I am an "ensconced criminal." Anyone who refers to themselves in such a fashion is missing a bolt or nut. At the time, the partygoers were bemoaning their foolishness, in that we were all drinking late (around 10 pm) and would have to work in the morning. (I'm drinking coffee now.)

Yesterday, or perhaps the night before, that is, Saturday night, I was at a small gathering of people who I don't see very often. One woman, well over twice my age, was bragging about her new job at which she would make $8.50 an hour, and get to work normal business hours. I just kind of blinked at her. A younger woman, in her late forties, I think, mentioned that she had just been raised to $11 an hour at her clerical job. Still, I remained silent. Yes, congratulations, we have all sold our souls. Yes, some of us are skilled, and, for some reason, find that our souls become more valuable as a result. I saw no reason to slap my proverbial dick on the table and point out that my soul was worth more than theirs, especially since my girlfriend was sitting right there, and her soul is worth way, way more than mine.

The people at Sunday night's party had much more costly souls. Note to self: take my girlfriend's sister-in-law up on her offer to help pay for my next visitation-rights court battle.

What was I saying? Oh yes, evidence of madness. I've stopped writing, except for the essays. I don't get writer's block, simply because I never try to write. I am either writing or not writing. However, I am noticing that I have not been writing for quite a long time. I'm getting quite sick of the quote on my Artist's Page, but I've had nothing with which to update my page, therefore have had no good opportunity to change the quote.

I can touch my nose with my tongue.

Jonathan Penton is the overworked editor and publisher of Unlikely Stories. Check out his literary works at this site.