AN: This was written by a good friend of mine. He gave me permission to post it. Leave a review and I'll get it to him. Thanks.

Change

I turned my head slowly to the left. The small digital alarm clock was flashing 12:00 in bright red pulses. I really should fix that.

My enormous dog Bilfred must have tripped over the slender cord sometime over the course of the day while I was gone. It's not like he can really control himself that well; he is a St. Bernard that weighs about three hundred pounds, very overweight for a dog. Of course I'm his opposite, which must be why I like him so much.

The loud crack of a baseball bat solidly connecting with a baseball and the loud uproar of crazy fans snapped me out of my thoughts. It was Sunday night, and I was doing what all normal male American males do on a summer Sunday night...watching Sunday Night Baseball with my dog. However, I was not consuming a large amount of alcohol in the form of wine coolers and Budweiser or eating a trunkload of snacks such as nachos or tacos, like most men do while watching sports.

After the game ended at about eleven o'clock I looked over to Bilfred, laying comfortably on his huge red and green plaid doggy pillow. He hadn't eaten since about an hour ago, so I decided to feed him.

I went into my kitchen to cook up some food for Bilfred. My kitchen was small, so was the rest of my house. You don't need much when you live alone. It's always just me and Bilfred. I restlessly flipped open my cabinets. There was nothing, save two boxes of fresh saltine crackers. I remember when the cabinets were literally overflowing with food of all kinds, but that was my old life. I try not to remember that.

I shut the cabinets and opened the freezer. There was about a hundred frozen fifteen-ounce raw steaks inside. As I stood watching my breath turn to mist in the chilly air I realized I only bought Bilfred the best steak, no precooked steaks, just fresh and raw. I laughed. I was a good master wasn't I? I grabbed two of them and shut the freezer door.

I moved over to the refrigerator, which also contained many steaks for Bilfred, and grabbed the smooth metallic handle, which opened the door. There were many steaks in the fridge but I reached in and grabbed two steaks off of the bottom shelf. I then tossed in the two frozen steaks in the place where the thawed ones had previously been. They made a strange clunking sound as they hit the bottom. I always kept the fridge stocked with thawed steak. I slowly shut the door and turned to the griddle.

I turned on the griddle and waited for it to heat up. I am a very good cook; I worked in one of the finest restaurants in all of New York as the head chef. I used to cook myself gourmet meals everyday, but now I never cook fore myself because I hardly ever eat anything besides the three or four saltines I allow myself to have every day. Outside of work I only cook for Bilfred. I really enjoy watching him eat. Sometimes I even cut up the juicy steak and feed it to him.

The griddle was very hot. I greased it and I tossed on the two steaks. During the ten minutes while the steaks cooked I was constantly cutting small slivers of butter and placing it on the steaks, watching the butter melt into a delicious pool and then be slowly absorbed by the steak. The steaks were done just the way I- I mean Bilfred, liked them; medium rare.

I grabbed a spatula and flipped the piping hot, delicious smelling steaks on to a plate and grabbed a fork and a sharp knife from the nearby drawer I plunged the fork into the steaming meat and slowly cut it into about ten strips, savoring the smell of the steak. I did the same thing to the other piece and glanced at the clock above the stove. It was almost midnight- only seven more hours until morning. I turned and walked out of the kitchen, returning to Bilfred with his freshly cooked meal.

I shook him a couple of times, waiting for him to wake up so I could feed him. He didn't seem to want to wake up, even for freshly cooked steak, but I relentlessly shook him until he woke up. I then stabbed a slice of meat and put it near his large droopy mouth. His pale tongue slowly protruded, and he licked the meat a few times before engulfing it in one huge slurp. Over the next fifteen to twenty minutes I slowly fed him the steak. I enjoyed watching him eat, it almost feels to me like I'm eating the food along with him. After he was done eating Bilfred clumsily turned in a circle and flopped down contentedly on his doggy pillow.

By the time I was done feeding Bilfred it was about 12:30 A.M., the time I usually took a shower. I don't know why I always take a shower in the middle of the night, it just sort of happened over the past year. I suppose it gives me something to do besides lay in bed and think about how I couldn't get to sleep, or about the foods I would no longer eat.

I walked slowly to the bathroom, grabbing my royal blue robe as I passed its hook outside my room. As I stood in the bathroom looking into the mirror I saw the dark sagging bags under my eyes.

If I could change anything about me it would be those. Even before I developed insomnia I always had large bags under my eyes, even when I was a teenager. My eyes trailed down my body to my arms and then to my stomach. They had not an ounce of fat or muscle on them, but I was still not satisfied. I if could get down from almost three hundred pounds to one hundred and seven then I could get even thinner.

I turned on the shower and felt the water. It was very cold, so I waited a few minutes and tried again. This time I was almost hot but not quite-just the way I like it. I pulled the silver nozzle on the wall out. There was a deep, almost grating sound, and then water came spewing down out of the plastic showerhead. I hung up my towel and stepped into the shower

Whenever I take a shower late at night like this I let my mind wander. I guess I think best with a hot stream of water massaging my back. As the warm water ran down the back of my neck I ran through the day in my head. I hadn't done much. I had only gotten about an hour of sleep the night before, and it was accidental sleep, the kind where you're watching an infomercial and blink, and suddenly the infomercial is over and some new one is on. I hate that kind of sleep. It makes you feel even more tired when you wake up than when you fell asleep. I had slowly learned to function on little sleep that I got over the past year. Now getting two hours of sleep seems like an enormous amount.

When I woke up from my accidental sleep this morning (or would it be yesterday now...) it was about 4:30 in the morning. I had cooked Bilfred another meal and then watched more infomercials. At seven o'clock I had three or four saltines and a glass of water. The saltines were my food for the rest of the day, but I try to drink ten glasses of water a day. It helps my skin no look so pale and it also fills my stomach, if only for a few minutes. I would have gone to church, but not now. I would've gone when I was happy.

After I had eaten breakfast, I went to IHOP that was down the street to sit and read the newspaper, drink a glass of water, and just smell the good food. Luckily they had not kicked me out. You were supposed to order something of at least three dollars and I had just handed the waitress three ones when she asked me what I wanted, telling her that I wanted nothing but a glass of water and a place to sit.

I got back to my small house about noon, just in time to watch the football games, I love the time of year when the football and baseball seasons coincide. I sat in my chair all day watching football from noon to six thirty and then Sunday night baseball from seven until just a couple of hours ago, taking breaks only for a glass of water or to cook another meal for Bilfred. It really was a worthless day wasn't it? My whole life seemed rather worthless now, but I couldn't kill myself-that just wasn't me.

I suddenly opened my eyes. I must have fallen asleep accidentally again. I really hate that. The water was much colder now. I must have been sleeping for a while to start to run out of hot water. My hot water supply always seemed infinite. It was a miracle I had stayed standing for the whole time I was asleep.

I shut off the water and reached for my towel. I wrapped the fluffy towel around my head to try to keep the after-shower cold out. After drying myself off I stepped out of the shower stall and looked into the mirror. My black hair was a mop on top of my head, but I didn't care. I don't know what happened to my in the shower, but fore some reason I realized that I wasn't happy with me or my pathetic life. Every day is exactly the same. I'm either sitting at home watching sports and cooking for Bilfred, watching infomercials during the day, or I'm working as a chef; none of which I am content with. Every night I either lay awake watching infomercials again until I accidentally fall asleep for an hour, or I lay in bed trying to fall asleep for a few hours and then successfully fall asleep for all of maybe an hour and a half.

I didn't know whether to blame by poor excuse of a life on Bilfred, me eating habits, my insomnia, my job, or myself. Either way I wasn't happy with my life. It is a routine, a routine I had learned to do on an average of an hour or two of sleep a night and four saltine crackers and water a day.

Suddenly I got an idea that seemed not thought out at best and crazy at worst. I would leave. I would pack my things and leave my house. I didn't know where I would go but I knew I would never return.

I went to my room and put on some sweatpants and a sweatshirt, figuring it would be cold in the middle of the night. I grabbed my checkbook, my credit cards, and everything I could think of relating to money. I knew I wasn't going to be working for a while; I was never going to show up to my old job again. A large Yankees bag caught my eye. I stuffed every article of clothing I could fit. I left a message on my answering machine fore someone to take care of Bilfred, and I left the fridge and freezer doors open so he could get food.

After I was done putting on my shoes I rat to the kitchen and got both boxed of saltines. I glanced at the clock. 5:05 A.M. I had gotten a good night sleep; four hours. I smiled as I ran toward the door, tearing open a sleeve of saltines. As I walked out the door I grabbed a handful of saltines and stuffed them into my mouth. I started walking down the street crunching on my saltines, not knowing where I was going or what I was going to do, but for the first time in a long while, I was happy so I didn't care. I just kept walking and crunching, letting my feet lead me where they wanted to go.