I Want a Redo  
 
So we have these discussions. Me.  
And Amelia. (Who knew Chihuahuas  
were such good listeners?) Not that  
she’s a barker. She’s not. But I can  
tell. You know. When she agrees  
with me. Yeah. I can tell. Like  
when I say I want a redo. When  
I was eighteen. Back then. When  
I chose tech. You know. As a career.  
Geez! What was I thinking? So, so  
stressful. That job. Who knew?  
Instead, instead. I’d do something  
different. Now. Like work at a hotel.  
A desk clerk. Yeah. That’s what  
I’d be. Make a career of it. I would.  
I’d work my shift every morning.  
And then, and then. I’d leave. Done!  
Stress-free. With the rest of the day  
to enjoy. See? A redo. That’s what  
I want. And Amelia agrees. She does.  
Especially when I give her a treat.