The What

i am the what.

i am an ancient entity beyond mortal comprehension

interests include:

looming

staring into the distance

maintaining an atmosphere

soup

being right

holding grudges against greg

nothing.

i am a hobby.

i simply think about her with the intensity of a dying star collapsing into itself.

not because i wanted to.

because apparently that is how society works now.

once, long ago, a mysterious mountain entity could descend from the wilderness and be greeted with reverence.

people would leave offerings.

they would whisper.

they would speculate.

now i stand in line behind a man ordering six different modifications to a beverage and then i tap my card against a machine.

civilization was a mistake.

the worst part is that the machine asked if i wanted to leave a tip.

for whom.

the machine.

i am always weird.

i am an ancient mountain-dwelling entity whose relationship with reality is, at best, contractual. there is no measurable difference between my normal state and my state around martha may. for example, this morning i spent two hours standing motionless in the fog contemplating the nature of existence.

then martha may said hello. and i spent the next forty minutes contemplating the nature of "hello."

the problem is the other people.

i awoke shortly before sunrise, as is customary for an ancient and unknowable being. the mountain was quiet. the air was cold. the world possessed a certain dignity. for a brief moment i was able to sit outside my cave and enjoy the silence.

then i heard somebody in whoville practicing the trumpet.

poorly.

there are sounds that belong in nature. wind through pine trees. distant thunder. the cry of a hawk. the rustling of leaves.

and then there is whatever that was.

the sound traveled all the way up the mountain and lodged itself directly inside my skull. i have endured plagues. i have endured blizzards. i have endured greg.

yet somehow the trumpet remains my greatest challenge.

later in the morning i descended into town to acquire coffee. this was my first mistake.

while there i was stopped by no fewer than four whos.

one asked how i was doing.

one asked what i had planned for the weekend.

one asked whether i had seen a missing cat.

and one asked if i was "staying out of trouble."

staying out of trouble.

as though i am a teenager.

as though i am not an ancient consciousness that predates half the geographical features in this region.

i should not be asked casual questions.

i should be approached with caution and uncertainty.

there should be at least one warning sign.

possibly a second sign explaining the first sign.

instead i am expected to engage in small talk.

a fate i would not wish upon my enemies.

8:15 a.m. — coffee

8:30 a.m. — stare out window

9:00 a.m. — continue staring out window but with purpose

10:00 a.m. — check on mountain

11:00 a.m. — determine mountain is still present

12:00 p.m. — lunch

1:00 p.m. — dramatic walk

2:00 p.m. — stand on cliff and contemplate existence

3:00 p.m. — crow meeting

4:00 p.m. — grudge maintenance

5:00 p.m. — avoid greg

6:00 p.m. — accidentally think about martha may

7:00 p.m. — recover

8:00 p.m. — become silhouette

9:00 p.m. — moon observations

10:00 p.m. — return to cave