600 Hours of Edward (2 page)

After that, I came to live here, and I had to start seeing Dr. Buckley. I have seen her every Tuesday of every month of every year since then. She encouraged me to continue to write my letters of complaint, but she suggested that I not send them so I do not have trouble with other people. I will admit that it didn’t make a lot of sense to me at the time, but it really does work. Writing the letters makes me feel better. I find that after I write one and file it away, I soon no longer wish to send it.

Dr. Buckley is a very logical woman.

– • –

Every night at 10:00 sharp, I watch
Dragnet
. I watch only the color episodes of
Dragnet
, the ones that were made between 1967 and 1970.
Dragnet
does not appear on television anymore, so I have to watch the episodes that I recorded on videocassette in 2000, when the TV Land network was still showing it. I have all ninety-eight color episodes on videocassette.

Because today is October 13, the 287th day of the year (because of the leap year), I will be watching the ninety-first episode of the series, “Burglary: The Dognappers.” This will be the third time this year that I have seen this episode, which originally aired on February 26, 1970.

Here is my method for watching
Dragnet
: On January 1 of every year, I start with the first episode of
Dragnet
. I then watch the episodes in succession, one each night, until I reach the end, and then I start over.

Because the 365 days in a year—or 366 days in a leap year—are not cleanly divisible by ninety-eight episodes, I will watch
each of the episodes at least three times a year, and I will watch the first seventy-two episodes four times. Because this is a leap year, I’ll watch the first seventy-three episodes four times. You would think that I would know the first seventy-two (or seventythree) episodes a little better than the others because of the disparity (I love the word “disparity”) in watching them, but I have no proof that’s true. Perhaps I should see if I can find the scripts and run some calculations on how many of the words from the first seventy-two (or seventy-three) I know, as opposed to the last twenty-six (or twenty-five). That will be a good project for another time.

“Burglary: The Dognappers,” the nineteenth episode of the fourth and final season of the color episodes, is one of my favorites. In this episode, Sergeant Joe Friday and Officer Bill Gannon work a case involving people who steal dogs from cars and then return them to the owners for reward money. You could make a credible case that every
Dragnet
episode has a moral component, but this one does especially. It’s not right to steal. Also, people love their pets, if they have them. I do not have pets.

As always, in this episode, Sergeant Joe Friday is a very logical person, and while Officer Bill Gannon isn’t as logical, he can be funny. I like them both.

– • –

After
Dragnet
, I get things ready for the next morning. I double-check my wake-up time and weather data and then put my notebook on the end table beside the bedroom door so I can find it first thing after I wake up. I also put three pens beside the notebook, because I don’t want to be in a situation where I can’t write down the time I wake up and the temperatures from the previous
day. One backup pen is just asking for trouble, so I make sure I have two.

The last thing I do before going to sleep is I write my letter of complaint. It’s hard sometimes to wait until the very end of the day to do this, but it jumbles my day up too much when I write my letter of complaint at the moment that someone makes me mad. If I’m not careful about the timing, for example, I could miss the 10:00 p.m. start of
Dragnet
, and that would just foul up everything. Also, writing the letter at the end of the day allows me some “separation time” between the incident that made me angry and my response to it. Dr. Buckley says that I can avoid many bad situations by learning to use “separation time.” She is a very logical woman.

As you might expect, I’m going to complain to my father. I already have five green office folders that hold letters of complaint to him. Soon, I may need six.

Dear Father:

I think you have erred in not considering radiant floor heating for the house that I am living in. I have read many articles about this type of flooring, and it is my understanding that by utilizing pipes in the concrete floor that carry hot water, you can significantly reduce your energy costs. As you know, in Montana, winter can be very cold. I think that radiant floor heating would bring substantial savings, although I will concede that there is an upfront cost of installation that must be considered.

I also must concede that perhaps you have thought of radiant floor heating and simply have not communicated
those thoughts to me. I would ask that you show me the common courtesy of letting me know what you’re thinking in regard to this issue, for if you decide to install radiant floor heating, I will have to adjust my life to accommodate the intrusion of a contractor.

Finally, I would urge you to not use the unseasonably warm weather we have been having as an excuse to disregard the heating apparatus of this house. I have ten years’ worth of weather data that show conclusively that we will, at some point, come in for some cold weather. That said, I do not like to rely on predictions. I shall wait for the facts to bear this out before contacting you further.

I appreciate your consideration.

With regards, I am your son,

Edward

The sound of a lawn mower jolts me awake. I turn to face the clock, and it reads 7:28. This is an oddity. Every previous day this year, I have awoken at 7:37, 7:38, 7:39, or 7:40. Now, on the 288th day of this year (because it is a leap year), I am awake at 7:28. Further, I am all but certain that I have never awoken at this particular time. I will have to check my data, as I don’t like to trust assumptions. I prefer facts.

I retrieve my notebook from the end table and grab a pen. I record my waking time, and my data is complete.

At the front door, I bend over and retrieve the
Billings Herald-Gleaner
from the front stoop. I can now see the source of my early awakening: The woman across the street, the one who moved in on September 12 (the 256th day of this year, but only because it is a leap year), is mowing her front yard. I have seen her a few times since she moved in, but this is the first time I have seen her mowing her front yard. A boy lives with her, and I assume that he is her son, although I don’t like to assume. He looks to be eight or nine years old, but I’m not comfortable with such conjecture. If I could find out the boy’s birth date, I would know for sure and would feel more comfortable about the situation. There is a big
difference between the ages of eight and nine, and in this case, I just don’t know. This frustrates me.

I have not seen a man over there, and so I wonder whether my neighbor has a husband or her boy has a father. I would be sad to think that he doesn’t, but having a father isn’t necessarily a good thing. I have one, and while he did buy this house for me to live in, he also has his lawyer send me a lot of letters and may not have given any thought to radiant floor heating.

I see now that the woman across the street has stopped pushing the lawn mower and is waving at me. I think it would be better if I looked at the weather information and recorded it inside. I close the door. Soon, my data will be complete.

– • –

After breakfast, I thumb through my voluminous (I love the word “voluminous”) data sheets, and I am correct: Before today, I have never awoken at 7:28 a.m. Today is a landmark.

– • –

Because I have many things to do today, including my weekly appointment with Dr. Buckley, I will have to put off my Internet time until later. I meet with Dr. Buckley promptly at 10:00 a.m., just as I have every Tuesday of every month of every year since I started seeing her, save for one.

On Tuesday, June 11, 2002, Dr. Buckley had to move my appointment to 11:00 a.m. It was a disaster. All I could think about was that the shuffling had put my 10:00 p.m. viewing of
Dragnet
—episode number sixty-four, “Frauds: DR-28”—in jeopardy, and so I could not answer questions about how my medication
was doing or what projects I was working on or how my letters of complaint were working out. Dr. Buckley cut the session short, which mitigated against the damage done to my schedule, and we both agreed that from then on, we would meet at 10:00 a.m. on Tuesdays.

This is one of the things I like about Dr. Buckley. Although she sometimes makes mistakes, she is a very logical person.

– • –

My first stop is Home Depot, in the paint department. I have decided to paint the garage. I need a new project, and the ten-day weather forecast looks as though it will allow me to do this. I don’t like forecasts, though, as they are notoriously off base. I will have to wait for the actual data, and it is my hope that by then the garage will be painted.

There are more paint varieties and colors here than there were the last time I was at Home Depot. There must be an entire arm of the paint industry dedicated to coming up with new colors and combinations, and I instantly wish that I had looked at some possibilities on the Internet before coming here. I’m frustrated with myself for not thinking of this.

The man in the paint department, who is supposed to assist me, isn’t helpful at all. He asks many questions, faster than I can answer them, and he is talking about things like ambience, things that I don’t care about. I just want to find the right paint.

“Leave me alone,” I say.

The paint man trudges away, shaking his head.

Did you know that there are NFL team colors available in paint? I am intrigued by this. I like the Dallas Cowboys, but I don’t think that I would want their colors on the garage. I will
have to think of a project that would work with Dallas Cowboys team-color paint. This is something I would like to do, sometime after I finish the garage.

After I spend a few more minutes looking at swatches, it’s obvious that the paint situation is hopeless. I cannot decide on a color, and I can feel the urge to rip these swatches from the wall welling up inside of me. I close my eyes, as Dr. Buckley has suggested that I do when I feel this way, and I try to breathe. Dr. Buckley says that when I feel overwhelmed by frustration, I should think before I act and find the path that will carry me away from the frustration.

Dr. Buckley is a very logical person. I do as she has counseled me, and my path becomes clear.

I walk over to the unhelpful man and say, “I would like three gallons each of the Behr mochachino the Behr parsley sprig, and the Behr bronze green.”

As the unhelpful man walks over to gather the supplies needed to mix my paints, he is shaking his head again.

– • –

I like Dr. Buckley’s waiting room. The walls have dark wood paneling, and the lighting sets me at ease. Dr. Buckley also plays soft music in her waiting room. I prefer rock music—my favorites are R.E.M. and Matthew Sweet—but I think that if Dr. Buckley played Matthew Sweet, some of her patients would not like it. Matthew Sweet has a song called “Sick of Myself,” and I am pretty sure that is exactly the wrong song name for a therapist’s waiting room.

I try to arrive at least ten minutes early for my 10:00 a.m. appointment, although I can never be sure exactly what time I will get here. Things like stoplights and the uncertainty of where
in the parking lot I will find a place for my car affect it. I once asked Dr. Buckley if I could have my own parking space, but she assured me that was not possible.

I arrive early for two reasons: First, as I said, the lighting and wood paneling and the soft music help set me at ease. Second, Dr. Buckley’s other, less-organized patients are always getting the magazines out of order. I sometimes need the full ten minutes to organize the magazines by title and date. I would do it after our appointment, when I have more time, but Dr. Buckley prefers that her patients not linger.

Today, however, the magazines are not badly out of sorts, and so I have three minutes to just sit and listen to the music.

– • –

When Dr. Buckley emerges from her office to summon me in, I look down at my digital watch, and the time is 9:59:28. I tell Dr. Buckley that it is not quite time for my appointment, and so we stare at each other for thirty-two seconds.

– • –

There is a rhythm to my talks with Dr. Buckley. She asks many of the same questions every week, but it’s not by rote. She is interested in my answers. Dr. Buckley has never been less than professional, and she is a very logical person.

“How has your week been, Edward?”

“Very good, I think. My data is complete, and before I came here today, I bought some paint for the garage.”

“It’s a little late in the year for that, isn’t it?”

“The ten-day forecast looks good.”

“You’re trusting forecasts now?”

“No, but you’ve told me that I should have a little faith, right?”

“Very good. Have you been taking your medication?”

“Every day. Eighty milligrams every day.”

“Any problems with the Prozac?”

“I prefer the term fluoxetine.”

“Any problems?”

“No.”

“Excellent. Are you still writing letters?”

“I wrote one to my father last night.”

“But you didn’t send it, right?”

“No.”

“What was your complaint to your father?”

“I don’t think he’s even considered radiant floor heating. Do you realize how much money he could save?”

“Radiant floors are nice. Do you know why this is so important to you?”

“It’s not that it’s important. I’m frustrated that he hasn’t thought of it. It doesn’t speak well of him.”

“Do you think, perhaps, that it might be too much to expect that your father has thought of radiant floors just because you have?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. He makes me mad.”

“We can talk about that some more.”

– • –

Tuesday is also the day that I go to the grocery store. It just makes good sense. Dr. Buckley’s office is at Lewis Avenue and Sixteenth Street W., which means that I can go north on Sixteenth to Grand Avenue, take a right turn, and be at the Albertsons store three
blocks later. After shopping, I can take a right turn on Grand, then another right turn on Sixth Street W., then another right turn on Clark Avenue, where I live.