I was running on the treadmill when my wife entered the room and asked me, “What’s the Amazon password?”

I knew the Amazon password by heart, and I could have spoken it that instant, but instead I chose to exaggerate the labor of my breathing and the slapping of my footfalls against the treadmill for several seconds before turning and scowling at her.

“Pynchon77,” I muttered.

“Thanks!” she said, exiting the room.

For the next minute I ran on the treadmill while periodically scowling and pshawing. With my hands I gesticulated weirdly above the treadmill’s display. For the following two minutes I ran on the treadmill while alternately scowling, pshawing, and gesticulating weirdly.

As I continued running on the treadmill, I began to consider how I might go about deliberately tripping and falling while running, how I might deliberately injure myself, how I might best maim myself in order to get back at my wife for disturbing me, for asking for the Amazon password while I was running on the treadmill. I began to consider how I might go about tripping in order to fall down on the treadmill in such a way to be hurled across the room against the far wall and break my ankle, break my leg, or, best of all, crack my spine. Would the treadmill belt hurl me across the room, I wondered, with enough force for me to properly crack my spine against the far wall?

I heard myself weakly calling out to my wife. I saw her astonished face as she entered the room and scrambled toward my broken body lying crumpled on the floor. I heard myself admit to her, through trembling lips, through bleeding teeth, that my rhythm on the treadmill had been thrown off when she’d asked for the Amazon password, that I wasn’t able to recover, that I’d tripped and fallen and been hurled across the room against the far wall.

“You threw off my rhythm when asking for the Amazon password,” I thought, running. “Now I’ve cracked my spine, now I’m paralyzed from the neck down. We’ll have to tap the kids’ college savings to pay for the hospital bills,” I thought, running. “Too bad, smart kids, they deserved a little college,” I thought, running on the treadmill.

“She really shouldn’t bother me while I’m running on the treadmill,” I thought, running on the treadmill. “Look what could happen. The kids’ futures ruined, just like that,” I thought, running. “All because she came in and bothered me, all because she asked for the Amazon password and threw off my breathing while I was running on the treadmill,” I thought, running on the treadmill.

“Poor kids, my poor sweeties, having to grow up without a father, having to grow up with only a mother, having to grow up with only her for a parent. With only her, who’s a total workaholic, who never has time for the kids even now. Just imagine what it will be like then,” I thought, running. “They’ll be bathed once a week at most,” I thought, running. “What a fiasco,” I thought, running.

“But had it seemed I was suddenly on the mend while at the hospital, had it seemed I was somehow miraculously going to survive, in that case I’d have to find a way to kill myself without anyone knowing. Perhaps I could smother myself with a hospital pillow,” I thought, running. “For I would need to die in order to properly get back at her for asking for the Amazon password and throwing off my breathing while I was running on the treadmill,” I thought, running on the treadmill. “Why couldn’t she have simply waited until I was finished on the treadmill to ask for the Amazon password?” I thought, running on the treadmill.

“Dad told me, at the hospital,” I thought, “that his breathing had gotten thrown off while he was running on the treadmill. He told me you’d asked for the Amazon password while he was trying to concentrate on his workout. That’s what made him trip and fall. He said it wasn’t your fault, he said I should never blame you, but it was your fault, wasn’t it? It was you who actually killed him by asking for the Amazon password. I’ll never forgive you. We’re going to make your life a living hell from here on out, if only to get back at you for screwing up Dad’s breathing, while he was running on the treadmill,” I thought, running on the treadmill.

“I bet it takes me the entire second half of my run on the treadmill to reestablish the steady breathing pattern I had worked so hard to establish during the first half of my run on the treadmill,” I thought, running on the treadmill.

“So insensitive,” I thought, running. “She’s so insensitive. Little does she know that it requires of me my every last ounce, my every last iota, no, my every last ounce, my every last ounce. What should it be, do you think, my every last iota or my every last ounce?” I thought, running. “Little do you know that it requires of me my every last ounce of energy to remain running on the treadmill at this speed, for this length of time,” I thought. “It requires every last iota of my energy to not just yank out the magnetic emergency stop key cord thing and give up,” I thought.

“What is this thing called, anyway?” I thought. “This red rope with all these knots in it? All the knots she puts in it. I never put knots in it. I always take great care to ensure that it doesn’t get knotted, when I’m running on the treadmill,” I thought. “It requires my every last ounce to not just pull this red magnetic stop cord thing out and give up, give up once and for all, never exercise again. How you could possibly fathom, how you could even possibly fathom, but how you could ever even selfishly fathom that I have a single iota of mental energy left to waste on conjuring up the Amazon password for you, at your whim, at your fancy, at your caprice?” I thought, running. “That’s good, caprice is good,” I thought, running. “At your caprice? For instance, when I’m on the treadmill concentrating with my every last iota of available mental energy? It’s just beyond me, it’s absolutely beyond me. It’s well beyond me. It’s far, far beyond me,” I thought.

“Goddamn it,” I thought, running. “I mean, I love you, you know I love you very much, but,” I thought, running. “Very much, of course I do, of course I do,” I thought, running. “You love her, you love her very much, it’s true, you love her very much. She’s your wife. You love her, don’t you? Yes, of course you do, but goddamn it. But of course you do, you love her, you love her more than anything, you love her very much, it’s true, but goddamn it, but you do, you love her, very, very much. I love you so much, I really do. I really do, I love her, but goddamn it,” I thought, running on the treadmill.

“She just needed the Amazon password. She didn’t mean anything by it. She wasn’t deliberately trying to disturb you,” I thought. “Don’t be ridiculous, stop being ridiculous, stop being insane, let it go. That’s not how she is. She doesn’t have a cruel bone in her body. Don’t be ridiculous. Just quit it,” I thought, running.

“You know why she asked for the Amazon password? She probably asked for the Amazon password because she wanted to take the opportunity presented by you being on the treadmill to order you a special gift from Amazon. She probably wanted the password so she could order you a special gift while you were occupied on the treadmill, so you wouldn’t see what she was ordering, a special gift just for you, because she loves you. She’s ordering you a special gift because she loves you very, very much,” I thought, running.

“You’re very disrespectful to your wife in your head,” I thought, running. “What in the world gives you the right to treat her this way, even if only in your head?” I thought, running. “You’re such a total dick to your wife in your head. Whenever you’re running on the treadmill, why do you always have to be such a complete and total dick to your wife, even if only in your head?” I thought, running on the treadmill.

“Hopefully she’ll get me one of those Boards of Canada vinyl reissues,” I thought. “Hopefully The Campfire Headphase,” I thought. “Wait a minute,” I thought. “Hopefully The Campfire Headphase? What in the world are you saying, hopefully The Campfire Headphase?” I thought, running. “Hopefully Music Has the Right to Children. What in the hell is wrong with you? The Campfire Headphase?” I thought. “That’s Boards of Canada’s worst album. How in the world could you have come up with something so ridiculous as that? The Campfire Headphase, think about what you’re saying,” I thought. “Think about what you’re saying, for once in your life,” I thought, running.

“Because she’s always thinking about you, she’s always thinking about how much she loves you, because she loves you and she’s always thinking about you and about how much she loves you. That’s how she is. That’s how she is, unlike you. Unlike you who’s always thinking about what’s wrong with her. Unlike you who’s always thinking about what’s wrong with the people who love you and the people who you love, the people whom you love, unlike you who always focuses on the negative rather than positive, unlike you who must be the most negative person in the history of the world,” I thought, running. “And I’m not talking about just this world, not just about this planet. On this planet of course you take the cake as the most negative person. I’m talking about on any planet, on every planet, the most negative person on any planet in the history of the universe,” I thought, running. “It’s necessary to include that in the history of the universe in order to account for the possibility of other species, to account for alien species both alive and extinct, for if there are aliens out there, which there surely are, then you would easily take the cake as the most negative person among them, as well,” I thought, running on the treadmill.

“Turn it around. Turn your shitty attitude around,” I thought. “Turn your life around,” I thought. “She comes in here and asks for the Amazon password and all of a sudden you’re thinking about divorce,” I thought, running.

“Will you please state the grounds for divorce?” I thought.

“It’s quite simple, your honor. She came in, asked for the Amazon password while I was running on the treadmill, screwed up my breathing. I nearly fell off and broke my neck, nearly died, our kids’ futures ruined just like that. And since she’s such a total workaholic she’d never have any time for them,” I thought.

“But just so we’re clear,” I thought, running, “You merely imagined the possibility of falling off the treadmill? You didn’t actually fall off and injure yourself, is that correct?”

“You’ve got to turn your life around,” I thought, running. “You can’t be such a miserable dick all the time. You used to be so happy, you used to be so happy just being alive. Just being alive, that’s all it took to put a smile on your face. Remember how you used to walk around and look up at the clouds and smile all the time? Whatever happened to that? Remember how scared of death you used to be? You were so scared of death all the time,” I thought, running. “Those were the good times, those were the good old days. You were always worrying about dying, remember? Those were such good, such productive times for you. And why were you were so scared of death all the time?” I thought, running. “I’ll tell you why,” I thought, running. “Because you loved being alive, you loved life, you loved looking at the clouds and the trees, you loved smiling. Now you’re not scared of death anymore, and why is that? Because you’re so busy being such a miserable dick all the time, so busy making your life a miserable experience for everyone. Death’s no big deal now,” I thought, running. “Because being dead would be better than being a dick all the time,” I thought, running on the treadmill.

“I should really apologize to her,” I thought.

“No, don’t apologize,” I thought, “it’ll set a bad precedent.”

“Yes, of course, apologize, it’s no big deal, you have to,” I thought.

“I just want to apologize for being such a miserable dick all the time,” I thought, running. “Don’t know what’s wrong with me, maybe I should go back on Zoloft,” I thought, running. “No, you can’t say that. That’s the last thing you want, that awful feeling in your teeth,” I thought, running. “Hey, just wanted to apologize, you know, for being such a nonstop dick all the time, don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m having a mid-life crisis of sorts, an attitudinal mid-life crisis,” I thought, running. “That’s good, attitudinal,” I thought, running. “But now you’re just back to pathologizing your dickishness. Just be honest. Just try being honest, for once in your life,” I thought, running. “Hey, listen. I need to apologize to you. I’m a dick all the time, I know. Don’t have an explanation for it, not going to try to rationalize it, not going to try to pathologize it like I usually do. Kind of want to go back on Zoloft, kind of don’t, all the side effects make me cray, especially the teeth thing and the not-being-able-to-come thing,” I thought, running. “That’s good, cray’s good, cray always makes her smile,” I thought, running. “I’m not going to ask you to accept my miserable dickishness as status quo around here. I’m going to change. If that requires Zoloft, so be it. I’ll be a man about it. I’ll man up and deal. I’m going to change. I’m going to try to change. I don’t deserve you. No, I totally deserve you, just like you totally deserve me. But you don’t deserve this, this nonstop miserable dickishness. I’m talking primarily about my dickishness to you in my head, this incredible nonstop dickish prattle that goes on in my head, which you don’t have access to, thank God, because you wouldn’t believe what a nonstop dick I can be to you in my head,” I thought, running. “That’s good. Self-deprecation is critical,” I thought, running. “Although I might not act like it all the time, although I may treat you, from time to time, as if I hate you, I actually love you, I love you so very much, and I swear to God I’m going to work on my nonstop miserable dickishness. I’m going to change. I’m going to try to change,” I thought, running. “Be honest, but also be strong, be firm. Don’t talk about trying to change. It’ll set a bad precedent. Just be a man, for once in your life,” I thought, running. “Look, my love, I implore you, don’t bother me while I’m running on the treadmill. You wouldn’t believe the dickish prattle it sets off in my head. It sets off like this full-on monograph of total dickishness in my head. So please, I implore you, just stay the fuck away when I’m running on the treadmill. I’m sorry for how poorly I treat you in my head. In real life I love you very much, but I don’t have any control over my feelings for you in my head, when I’m running on the treadmill. So please, I implore you, don’t bother me when you see me running on the treadmill. Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. A single misinterpreted look is liable to set off a cascade, an avalanche, an avalanchine cascade of nonstop dickish prattle in my head,” I thought, running. “Be sure to use that exact phrasing, always combining I implore yous with a sweetie or a my love. They foil each other in an attractive and endearing way,” I thought, running. “I implore you, sweetie, don’t come anywhere near me, don’t come anywhere the fuck near me when I’m running on the treadmill. You’ve got to stay back, I implore you, my love, my sweetie, if ever you walk in here while I’m running on the treadmill, just turn around and walk back out. Don’t look at me, don’t you make a single fucking sound, my sweetie, my love,” I thought, running. “So good,” I thought, running. “Be considerate, but always be firm,” I thought, running. “Just keep your fucking distance, I implore you, my love, my sweetie, you’ve got to keep the fuck back whenever I’m running on the treadmill,” I thought, running on the treadmill.