Wake up.
WAKE UP.
Good. Well, a decent try at least. At least your consciousness is aware of the meat sack laying on this futon. A meat sack with back pain. Great. Your father told you to get a mattress but minimalism, right?
Try to rip those gunked up eyes open? Yeah, thought it’d be too hard for you. If we’re being honest, who the fuck wants to see this world? Hell, who’d wanna exist in this shithole? Not me, let me tell you that. But you made me. So, I’ll continue to enjoy my existence - which is hardly an existence - by tormenting you until you’re gone. I should hate you. I mean, you made me, and you are the sole reason for my existence. You could just stop thinking about me and I’d stop existing. Or you know, some very well-placed head trauma or an expertly performed lobotomy could also solve that little problem of ours. I didn’t actually ask if you liked my existence. Do you? I mean, I don’t like my existence and I’m your creation so wouldn’t that make me like some sort of mirror you hold against yourself? Does that mean my hatred for existence is actually yours? Or do you maybe hate yourself? Fuck, sorry. I forgot you hated it when I got philosophical. Anyway, you should really get up. Even I can’t remember how many times you snoozed that goddamn alarm.
How about we start by opening those eyes and taking a look at the time? I bet the gorgeous red LEDs of the alarm clock would be therapeutic in this fine whatever-day-it-is morning. Hey, maybe you can even peek between the gaps in the blinds to see how the weather is. Or mayb-
8:10 AM — IT’S RAINY.
Oh, you just looked. Well, you hardly need me I suppose. Go you! You’re a rock star! I bet you fuck rockstars! Too far? Yeah, I just pushed it into the not-really-believable area, didn’t I? Push off the floor and let’s get off this stinky futon already. Then we can roll it up and- You just kicked it to the corner of the room. Huh, I wonder what Marie Kondo would think of that. Does that spark joy? Ah, don’t get mad at me.
BATHROOM
Woof. Look at that face. Your caramel-colored hair is beautifully contrasted with your emerald green eyes. Ha-ha, as if. Your hair is a bird’s nest, and your eyes are mostly bloodshot. Though I must admit, the blood and your green eyes do create a striking contrast. Under your eyes, it looks puffy. You wanna touch it don’t you? Go ahead. Ah, the flesh squishes under your finger with a loose but warm feeling. It’s not unfamiliar at least. It’s you. Good girl. You should really shower. Your hair looks oily. I swear, you push all the calories out of your scalp. That’s disgusting. Also, I doubt looking like a wet dog would do you any favors with your clients. Just hop in the shower and I’ll wait outside for you. Kidding, I can’t be physically anywhere, and I’m tied to your consciousness so we’re showering together. Very intimate, love that for us. Just make sure to get all sudsy and we-What? Oh, you cannot be serious. Did you really stop thinking about me while you had a shower? You shouldn’t be able to do that! You just ended my existence and brought me back just like that? I mean, am I even the same me? You cannot give me existential trauma just because you need privacy, damn it! Well, at the very least you do look mildly presentable now. You should eat. I can make pancakes. I really can’t…but it’s the thought that counts, right? What time is it, by the way? We shouldn’t miss the call with the really important client who I definitely know everything about and care about what he wants. Like the fact he works for the business factory and makes spreadsheets and bar charts for a living. But seriously, time check?
8:57 AM
Oh crap, I think the meeting was at nine, right? God, that screen is bright. Are we hungover? Are YOU hungover? Come on, say it. I’m XXXX and I’m an alcoholic. No? Fine. Have it your way. I don’t wanna sit through another one of your stupid boring idiotic online meetings so just…don’t think about me for a while, okay honey?
…
“So, how are we looking on the quarterly reports?”
“I see, that’s very good. Barely below last year’s highest sales.”
“No, I’m not dealing with that. We’ll talk to corporate about it.”
…
Heh, when he speaks his jowl expands like a frog and his face looks like a frog too, damn. He’s bald as well. That’s one frog-like dude. Heh, don’t croak out on us now, Little Frog Dude. Seriously though, that was the most boring meeting I’ve ever sat through, and I don’t even have the ability to sit. This could’ve been an email. So, wanna do something else? I’ve been wanting to go to the movies lately. No specific movie, I just wanna get in a room with a few dozen people and sit in the dark for a while. It’s exhilarating. Don’t judge me, these are your thoughts after all. You really don’t feel too good though. Is that nausea? You don’t have anything to puke so let’s just eat. I know how you get when you have low blood sugar.
KITCHEN
Let’s just see what we have in the fridge. What are our options? A dried-up slice of heavily processed American cheese which is a treasure trove of sodium citrate, an amazing emulsifier for any cheese sauce. One small issue, we don’t have any other parts of a cheese sauce…or anything to dip in said sauce. Still, the fact that you know this is impressive. You used to love cooking, didn’t you? Like, really cook, not the usual shitty instant ramen you tend to reach for nowadays. Anyways, the cheese is a non-starter, what else?
A half-gallon of spoiled milk, an empty carton of eggs, few slices of day-old pizza and some beer. Wait. Day-old pizza? That’s when it tastes best! We’re feasting like kings today! Don’t even warm it up. Down the hatch it goes! Mm, feel that soggy dough and tough mozzarella thoroughly zap every single one of your taste buds with pure, New York style pleasure. Make sure to wash it down with something though. Beer for breakfast sounds like something not a functional person would have so I guess that’s what we’re havi- Oh, please not liquor. And you grabbed the whisky. Perfect. Just what we need on a morning like this. You know you have to drive, right? Fuck it. Fireball whisky goes down real easy, doesn’t it? Ooh, no chaser too! I like your style, woman.
BUZZ BUZZ
That is your phone, and that horrid, abhorrent, skull-drilling sound. It is vibrating. You know what that means, right? Somebody is calling you. Isn’t that nice? Somebody actually remembered you existed and thought that they should contact you for some reason. Maybe it’s actually a telemarketer and all you’ll get out of that phone call is annoyance. Either way, it’s in good faith to pick up. Well, find it first. I wonder where you buried it last night.
BUZZ BUZZ
Well, go on then! Whoever’s on the other end of that line must be getting bored already. It’s coming from the couch. Maybe it’s in between the couch pillows? No? Maybe it got stuck in the armrest like last week? Also no.