So I’m lying here listening to all the noises in our apartment. Laundry, fan, snoring, sleeping sighs. The mini fridge that needs to be kicked into silence. Vibrating phone from text messages as I ask and my sister solves most of life’s philosophical issues. Neighbors above us who must be new or have recently quadrupled both their weight and activity level. Earlier this week, we seriously considered running up to knock on their door to make sure everyone was okay after a particularly heavy commotion. Against everything I know about science and the body (my own especially being somewhat lactose intolerant), I purchased HEB’s dulce de leche ice cream, and now it’s the only food I want. Thus I have eaten a scoop each day since Thursday. I await my diabetes. Or I won’t replace it when it’s gone. Anyway I’m thinking of recording the noises my stomach is making because they could be useful to Skrillex, and I’m laughing really hard, and then Joel’s tummy makes a noise in his sleep that sounds EXACTLY like the beginning of that Dinosaur, Jr. song. This is my Saturday night.