I cannot recall the day of the week we are on. I have no idea if it's morning or night. There's a constant buzzing inside of my head. It sounds like the buzz of moving machinery. I guess it's slowly and/or quickly driving me insane. I wonder, if I am able to diagnose my insanity, does that disqualify me from being so? Time seems so fake. Like a joke some guy played on the world so he could make up the word "late" and the idea of pay deductions. I wake up to the darkness and sleep when it's light. Bats envy me. Also Asian school boys with pocket protectors. Before I forget Je Xiou owes me two of his holographic super-being cards. When you sleep as I do, the days are only sixteen hours instead of twenty-four. Waking up every day is like pole vaulting without a pole, or a vault. And going to sleep only comes when I have finished watching every single pilot episode for this spring line up. Commenting on all of them. Liking none. I wish that I could reach through the computer screen and backhand the writers. Then apologize and send them a basket full of fruit. Then go play a spotting game of dance dance resolution and go home stealing their table ornament. Then apologize and trade it for their plasma screen television.
Pandemically,
Kyle
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