Temporary victory over sleep. Recovered from illness, for the most part, but decided to have a little sip of NyQuil last night anyway, because Jesus would. I turn medicinal cherries into thick urine, it's a miracle whip. What do they put in that stuff? Its effectiveness is its proof.
I awake a pleased dullard.
No time to write today. Filled with sarcophagus dust, I rise slowly, or not at all. Gravity gains on me at night.
I never used to care; lying in bed all day, watching movies. I'm not quite sure if anybody even makes films any longer. If they do, no one has bothered to tell me about them.
What could they possibly be about? Standing places, looking at things, walking through rooms, wanting to leave. Events. Another character, perhaps, wishes that they would stay.
Denouement.
.
