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Jim is in bed, surrounded by strewn newspapers all over the floor. They are for the most part largely unread, but this clutter, this disorder, and the faint smell of newsprint Jim likes. Ahh, untidiness, he thinks, sweet untidiness - this is my ticket to paradise, but in the chaos of his room, amid the graying splotches on his rug and the untidy subject matter of his art, he has misplaced this ticket, along with his remote for his TV, his glasses, his wallet, his keys, and his memory. Can one misplace their memory? thinks Jim. If they can, then he is a leading candidate for such a phenomenon. His memory is at the same time too big and too small, and as a result, he can never locate it. Asking others for help is useless. Not only would they be of no assistance whatsoever, but they have their own agenda, and this agenda doesn't include addressing Jim's damn memory problems. He understands all too well why his memory is bad, but this, this understanding, this of no help. He is still in a hole, and understanding why he's in that hole really makes no difference; he's still in the hole. Then there's the whole issue of Jim's problems with the IRS. This doesn't have anything to do with Jim's memory, or the fact that he's such a slob. Let's face it: the IRS could care less about this stuff. They just want their money and they want it now. Jim's cousin works for the IRS. He discussed this with Dave. Dave listened quite carefully, and then gave Jim a look like Jim might just as well been talking to a rock. And that's precisely what Jim does these days; he goes for long walks in the woods, sees a rock that he likes, say by its shape or color or its location, and tells his tax troubles to the rock. Actually, Jim finds rocks superb listeners; they seldom interrupt, are hardly ever judgmental, and are always there when you need someone to talk to. Jim finds venting to a rock quite satisfying. His favorite rock is a slab of blue-gray granite about a mile from his house. He never tells anyone about his rock conversations, which is probably for the best. Sometimes, he thinks he should talk about this with Dr. Jendrysik, his psychiatrist. But that would open up a road that he doesn't want to go down. Besides, he just sees Jendrysik twice a year to get his bipolar medication, and he think a discussion about the rock would increase his visits. Besides, Jendrysik has this irritating habit that irritates Jim to even discuss, and the potential of seeing him more than every six months would be so irritating to Jim that he might need some anti-anxiety medication to deal with this irritation. And besides, his insurance plan doesn't cover medication, and the last thing in the world Jim needs is to have another money problem to discuss with the slab of blue-gray granite. He wouldn't want to wear out his welcome with the rock and have it tell him to shut up.