Contemporaneous: Chapters 46 – 47
46. I sleep fitfully, drag myself out of bed, then go through my morning routine like it might be any other day, but there’s some weight I’m carrying now – my limbs are leaden, and my back is tight with all these little aches that make me think of writhing maggots. When I get to the work, everybody’s clustered together, huddled, hugging, crying. This is the best we can do in mourning: mourn together. One head of hair stands out – pink. Melody fucking Merlo. Seeing me, she rushes over with the urgency of a girlfriend charging a partner they haven’t seen for a long time, and hugs me so…
Contemporaneous: Chapter 35
35. There’s not a lot of point spending time at work on Tuesday – not writing about it, that is, although it’s a frustrating day where software fucks me over. We use Macs at work; for some reason, every now and again when I open any Microsoft software, like Word (to read and edit a manuscript), or Outlook (to check my emails), the Mac decides that it needs to verify the software. I’ve only used this computer and this software for the last ten years, so I have no idea why it insists on these sporadic verifications. Somewhere, somebody (or a team of somebodies) is being paid to make these…