[Certain]

So when I read the first section a few hours ago, I decided to put this aside until right before I went to bed. The reasoning was because I get a little nutty anyway at 6:30 a.m. I'm dead sober right now but might as well be tripping. I put on Split Eight's Mario music. I'm reading this thing through a second time. I don't even know what life means. It's like I'm realizing that for the first time. It's like I want to call you on the "how you got there" thing, but it seems perfect. This story envelops you if you let it. There's like science in it. I feel as trapped as your protagonist. I am your protagonist. Well, I lack Joan. Maybe I'll meet Joan. I've been thinking about quitting my job, moving somewhere and forgetting my life anyway. Why not move in with my great-bodied fellow driver? I mean, Joan seems pleasant enough. I don't like that the van is called Zippy. It's a van. It can't be that fast. There's a certain degree of fascism to any work place, and the propaganda is half the battle. You have to think the air conditioning might still be helping with allergies, right? Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to hurt myself. Then I decide it would hurt and don't do it. I don't think it's weird to think about what it would be like to hurt yourself, only to think about actually hurting yourself. I've never gotten to that stage. I've never intentionally injured myself. I did make a drunken, stupid decision to tear my anterior cruciate ligament nine months ago. I probably need to do some rehab on that tomorrow. I slack sometimes. Celery's good with peanut butter.