Without You, Mes Amis

I sit in my room.

I sit in my room, na krovati [on the bed -- there’s some good ROD for you later tonight YEAHHHH], laptop perched on one thunder thigh, thousands – nay – hundreds – nay, precisely ninety-five little strips of graph paper floating around everywhere else. Some are up my nose.

I make the strips into pretty piles. I make changes on the corresponding list on my computer.

I arrange new piles. More changes.

I try to collate piles. Remember the strips that have gone up nose. Retrieve said strips. Continue.

I have made a good list. I am pleased with the result.

I get up to make myself some tea with my previous quest item.

THERE IS A STRIP OF PAPER ON THE FLOOR. There should actually be ninety-six strips of paper!!!

In my mind I scream and kick and rage. I am good at bottling up emotions and saving them for a later time period, when I can express them in conducive ways to nature and society, through the widespread dissemination of the Frozen Icarus blog.

This is what you reduce me to, Moscow! This is what comes of your discriminatory, anti-index card politics! Shenanigans! I claim shenanigans! Exclamation point!