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Saturday night I’m upstairs lying on my couch, which is also my bed, when my computer makes a little pinging sound alerting me that a new e-mail has arrived. I can barely get myself disengaged from the covers but since I’ve been secretly hoping that something might entice me off the couch, I get up and check my inbox. It’s a rant from my friend Karen and a part of it reads, “I’m SO useless. It’s Saturday night and I’ve got nothing to do. No life, no energy, nada. I’m reading New Yorkers dating back to March 28. What are you doing?” 

I consider telling Karen I’m in the midst of dressing for the symphony and that I don’t have time to spread good cheer all the way to the northern-most region of the Idaho Panhandle, but I change my mind. “You think you’re pathetic?” I type in response. “Paleeeese. I’m lying on the couch reading tomorrow’s New York Times wedding announcements. How depressing is that?” 

“At least you can get the New York Times,” she fires back. 

“It gets worse,” I answer. “I’m trapped in a house full of lay-around slobs. Everyone here is prone.” 

It’s true. I live in a horizontal household. 

Willie, who helps me take care of my husband, is in the next room, in bed, watching TV. His excuse? He’s broke.  

In the attic, Jernae is sprawled across a mattress, channel surfing while talking on the telephone. Earlier in the day she’d given me a handwritten note entitled, “Things I Can Do Around Here for $20.” A list followed that included items such as “clean my room, do my laundry, wash the car, weed front yard, weed backyard.” There were instructions for me to put check marks in front of the chores that needed doing. I told her that her list contained things she could and should perform for free. Her response was to remind me that she was 15 and desperate. 

“We’re all desperate here,” said Andrea, who was leaning on her bedroom door, eavesdropping. “Look at me, I haven’t gotten out of my pajamas yet and it’s 3 o’clock in the afternoon!” 

Jernae and I ignored her. Andrea is always dressed in pajamas. This time she was wearing a gold satiny ensemble that had once belonged to my grandmother. She went back into her room and lay down. Lying around in other people’s pajamas is what she does best. 

Downstairs, Ralph was, as usual, in his hospital bed. He was the only one with a good excuse. He’s paralyzed and can’t get up unless we help him. But Ralph wasn’t interested in getting out of bed. He was watching two different baseball games on two different TV sets, and he was monitoring the scores of other games on his computer screen. A portable radio was perched on a stool nearby, tuned to a game that wasn’t televised. Periodically, Willie, Andrea, Jernae or myself shuffled into the kitchen to look for something to eat. While passing by Ralph we asked if he needed anything, but he was too busy to respond.  

Now it’s 9 p.m. and I’m waiting for another e-mail from Karen so we can argue about who has the more pathetic life. I hear the ping of my computer indicating a new e-mail. But this time it’s from someone I don’t know, informing me that I can super enhance the size of my penis. I hit the delete button and go back to bed. My dog, Whiskers, takes her usual position, stretching across my pillow, wrapping her warm furry body around my head. From the other rooms in the house I hear the familiar, comforting sounds of one radio and five television sets tuned to six different programs. Andrea clears her throat, Willie argues with Judge Judy, Jernae laughs at something one of the Cosby kids says, and Ralph cheers for the As. I close my eyes and wait for Sunday. 

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