My employer writes me incandescent performance reviews. I dare not bask. I am not a walrus. I reach for those blocky sunglasses they give people recovering from cataract surgery. 

If I am not producing, I cease to exist. My friend with a seafoam mohawk tells me I have been catfished by capitalism. The diagnosis is deeper. My dopamine receptors will only play pattycake with action items. My favorite dessert is a freshly vacuumed living room. 

In the interest of continuing to exist, I entertained the concept of Hobby. I made it take its shoes off. I did not have any pie to offer. I had already drunk all the coffee. We stood shuffling our feet in the foyer. My guest said it might behoove me to doodle or sketch. I envisioned a pad of strangers taking shape, with jowly cheeks and carbonated eyes. By the power of colored pencils, I might summon up people I have yet to love. I am forty-three, but I have not exhausted all the faces. I could consult my creations before leaving the house, so I would recognize them in person.

I signed an affidavit that I would not enter into any agreements with Expectations. If Outcomes approached with a business opportunity, I would have to run it by Fun for review. I waived the right to Purpose. I notarized a restraining order against Duty.

I was given one commandment. I was free to draw the faces of the earth. I had only to glue macaroni eyebrows on them all. Thus shouldst I avoid entanglement with Earnest. The only acceptable accomplishment was collateral giggles for the seraphs, who are nutritionally deficient in Slaphappy.

I got as far as the Pasta & Sauce aisle. I took the generic elbows in my hand, but my arm froze between the earth and the drop-ceiling. Did not God say that if I annotated my art, it might become adorable? Surely faces with carbohydrates deserved an audience. 

I pictured my pasta people feeding all the glum of the realm. I would apply glitter to their irises. I would accept commissions. I would draw twelve a day. I would donate eyebrowed individuals to children’s hospitals and community gardens. My people would remain surprised for all time. I would earn my sauce by the sweat of my brow.

I dropped the pasta box and ran to my car. I found Fun sitting naked in the driver’s seat. I had never noticed his gut and his tusks. He asked if I was up for a ride to the beach. I asked if my sunglasses were in the glove box. Something crunched under our wheels as he hit the gas.