Self: So you had a pretty good weekend, huh?
Me: Sure did.
Self: Tired again, I see.
Me: Eh, yeah. I guess so. Why?
Self: ‘Cause you’re not doing anything.
Me: I know. It’s Monday afternoon. So?
Self: This is becoming a routine for you and it doesn’t matter if it’s Monday. For all I know, I could have just walked in and seen you sitting here on the couch, and it could have been a Tuesday or a Thursday or a Sunday morning.
Me: What’s your point?
Self: Don’t you do anything?
Me: Of course I do stuff.
Self: Name the last three days you came home and did something.
Me: Uh, okay. Today: walked in and did the laundry. Today: walked in and unpacked my bags from the trip. Today: walked in and took out the trash.
Self: You planned on taking out the trash. You still haven’t done it yet.
Me: Alright, well, I did two things today immediately upon walking in the door.
Self: So? Are you going to take out the trash?
Me: Dude, seriously. Give me a break. I just walked in. Let me have a moment or two.
Self: I can’t. If I don’t get on you right away you won’t do it.
Me: That’s not true!
Self: Oh no? [pause, sly grin.] How long has the lightbulb been out in the living room?
Me: That doesn’t count.
Self: Just answer the question. How long has it been out?
Me: Since May.
Self: And the one in the dining room just went out too, right?
Self: And when was that?
Self: So now the entire front of your apartment is pitch black after 6pm.
Me: No, not entirely. There are other lights in other rooms. I can survive.
Self: Well I can’t, especially when I can’t fucking see where I’m going in your house at night. Tripping over wires and bags and all your shit lying around. Didn’t you get back from Pouso da Cajaiba like two weeks ago?
Self: And isn’t your bag still out there on the floor?
Me: Yes, but it’s empty. I took out all the stuff from it.
Self: That doesn’t matter. The point is, you leave your shit everywhere and because you also don’t take the initiative to change the lightbulbs after what could be five entire months, I’m left to trip over the mess.
Me: I said that the lightbulbs didn’t count. The ceilings are too high. I can’t reach the bulb.
Self: So call someone.
Me: I’m not going to call someone just to change a fucking light bulb. How pathetic is that?
Self: Right, just like it’s not pathetic to be feeling around the walls and using candles to get through your living room. Not pathetic at all.
Me: Listen, I’ve got a plan.
Self: What’s your plan.
Me: Dennis is going to be here.
Self: Saturday, yeah, I know.
Me: I’ve been trying to decide if he’ll be tall enough to reach the light bulb.
Self: And if not?
Me: I don’t know. Plan B.
Self: What’s Plan B?
Me: Well, it’s primarily getting you to shut the fuck up so Dennis and I can live in peace. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll call someone.
Self: [humph] Well. That was unnecessary.
Me: Hm. Much like you.