Channel-Surfing After a Crash SheÕs too old to be afraid to go to sleep. Twenty-three and wanting to go downstairs to her parentsÕ room, curling up at the foot of their bed with the cat. But thereÕs something in the dark between here and there. And she doesnÕt live here anymore, so she doesnÕt know whatÕs right and whatÕs intruding. Her handwriting has changed. She almost canÕt read it, but she likes it. It bleeds from her more really than the way she used to write, the way that teacherÕs taught her to write, so they could decifer what she was trying to say. Little boys from Ohio, once high school band geeks, now prance in leather, bound and blindfolded in their mansions of wealth. Crucified monkies and missing scenes and burning film. She knows the images, almost lives them in her harpsicord world, tinkling and light, but bitter and out of tune. So sheÕs afraid to go to sleep. Too much CNN. Too much Nightline. Too much of too much of too much. A small town, missing sixteen kids. Lost fiances and daughters with their husbands. Lost. Too much. SheÕs not going to sleep tonight. ItÕs not often that she gets a day off. She asked for this one a month ago. So now what? ThereÕs no story. Sorry to disappoint. There might be a story, if she wasnÕt afraid to get off the couch, where the air conditioner blows behind her and MTV blows in front of her. There probably is a story, but itÕs slow. The plot would involve her stomach-rumbling growing louder, and the mild sweaty odor from the spot where her breasts rub her ribcage, growing muskier. Okay, you want a story? HereÕs a story: her dad goes into a public restroom, followed a few minutes later by her uncle. As her uncle walks in, he hears someone cutting a long string of farts. Her uncle hoots and hollars, bangs on the stall door, even presses his eye against the crack between the stall door and the doorframe, only to discover that it wasnÕt her dad. Her uncle ran away while her dad sat in the next stall, trying to not laugh. The end. Well, not really, because her dad and uncle told the story to everyone they knew, who told everyone they knew, etc. It didnÕt end. Just kept growing with each retelling..