If I Had It to Do Again

If I had it to do again I would have stopped drinking and getting high at 18. At 16. Not dropped out of advanced math class. I would have done homework. I'd have diligently worked and got into a good college. And what. Diligently worked there. Had a square girlfriend and responsible sex. Become a dentist.

If I had it to do again I would have worked raking leaves or roofing or whatever was available to me. Saved money and bought a plane ticket to the Philippines. Life of jungle adventure and 100 kids I never heard about. Till 30 years later when they start DNA testing. Not even. They still don't know about DNA testing. Back in the day a guy put out a Craigslist ad in Cebu. I'll impregnate you with a white baby, it said. Hundreds of women responded. I would have done that.

I'm here with the dog and everything worked out fine. The dog is standing on my printer. Maybe breaking something. Climbing over the pile of papers and the ancestry dot com testing kits my mom bought for me and Susannah. Barking at something out the window. If I had it to do again I would have kept writing and got good and got a publishing deal. And what would have happened. What would I have written about. I'd have to make shit up since my life was all homework. The dog's barking at some insect on the floor. Or a clump of dirt, pawing at it. I should check to make sure it's not a wasp. I went to get it from her. Whatever it was she ate it.

Wait no it's still there.

It's a little scarab beetle. I picked it up- it was on its back, a little black beetle. The dog must have flipped it over. I put my finger on it and it grasped my fingertip. Still alive. I took it outside.

If things had been different. If I'd kept writing, saved money. Went to Harvard, got married, had kids and success, that beetle would have died.

The beetle will fly in front of a bullet meant for the president.

What would have happened. I'd be like Jonathan Franzen. I was at Patrick's house yesterday and saw his big serious looking book. PURITY. I'd write a big fat hardcover about weighty matters called VIRTUE. Instead of The Pussy.

You see both of those on a shelf, which are you reading.

Woke up this morning thinking about wasting 20 years of my life getting high instead of writing books. Or traveling the world bedding nubile slave women. Or having a suburban family, tall teenage sons who wear white tube socks and go to lacrosse practice in Connecticut.

My girlfriend is sleeping. We'll never know her genetic origin. I'm never going to swab her cheek and have my mom mail it to ancestry dot com.

I put the dog's toy out of reach on the countertop. Cuz it squeaks when she bites it. It's a felt stuffed animal in the shape of a beet with a face. The dog's bored and wants the toy. Stretching up for it crying. Susannah's still sleeping. I don’t want it to squeak.

The dog's rooting through the recycling. Knocking out the empty carton of probiotic skyr, vanilla chamomile flavor. Then not even eating the dried up scraps of skyr that fell out.

I give her some organic beef and sweet potato medallions. Served on a tupperware lid. I tear the silver dollar size medallions into quarters. So she doesn't choke.

The dog scratches the door meaning she has to piss. I take her out. She pisses. Susannah gives her a treat when she pisses outside like a good girl. So I do this. I give her an organic beef and sweet potato medallion. I wonder if her piss was a scheme to get the treat.

If I hadn't wasted my life for 20 years, I never would have met her. Or I'd have met her in the appropriate capacity. As her creative writing professor. At a California college where I get to teach because of my hardback books with golden laurels and yes, medallions on the cover. Where I fuck my students. Things would be exactly the same. She'd be sleeping in my queen size bed right now. With the same dog but maybe a different house and I'd be writing about my divorce.