skit #5: in love with it all

'With what?'
'With anything. With all of them.'
'But, but there all sortsa things you've never seen. There's no way.'
'No, I did it all last night.'
He forfeits his response in pause, but she only reiterates.
'With all of it.'
'No, no, but --'

She rose in retort. Fidgeting in only lit corner of the office, she unlocked the stoic steel filing cabinet. She pulled out paper of all its states of matter: pin-fed, 3-hole, college-ruled, twice-used napkins, excised encylopedia entries, newspapers, candy bar wrappers, cigarette papers, baking parchment, even a few squares that impossibly suggested age-old papyrus. She pulled more out. And then she pulled more out. There was no end.

She continued to dredge up libraries of scribbling. First, the conference table amassed an fine ovine fleece of her receipts. The flurry of pages grew frantic, from frost to impassable snowbanks. He first wondered how so much of her lunacy could fit in that seemingly-benign filing cabinet; Soon, he feared collapse of the table, dead wood crushed by dead leaves.

The paper reflected the glare overhead fluorescence, and the rustling produced a negating white noise. Only a pink carbon copy broke the otherwise monochromic mound. He saw this.

Unwadded, he read: 'I am in love with the old man humming TV theme songs in the back of the bus.'
Unwadded, another read: 'I am in love with this cucumber and its imminent rottenness.'
Another: 'I am in love with this fuzzy bear sticker and its adhesive properties and the gunk it will leave behind when it's gone.
'I am in love with my bones and my marrow and their guerilla coup.'
'I am in love with my man and his boyish sense of belief.'
Most read: 'I am in love with it all.'

She was hoping all these histrionics were proving to him she was not lying. She may have been earnest in her oath: 'I am in love with it all. I am in love with it all.'

He stood stunned wondering 'How did she write all this in one night?' She pulled out more.