Its fucken 2:30 AM again, and fucken Miriam Seddler (BioID: e18io42m2) is blasting her damn support center again. She insists something is unplugged out here because she can’t see her camera access to the beach restoration. Three times a week I deal with this. Does anybody chime in just to thank me? No, they’re much too busy with their sleepless role plays of life. Some of us are still made of meat here, well, one of us.
I don’t get much calls from inside anymore, besides Miriam. I used to have a weekly chat with my mom. She’d tell me how the skybox shimmered, and I’d tell her how the sky is recovering. Now, its down to about once every six months. Which wouldn’t be so bad in itself if I had someone, anyone to talk to. But all I get is more silence. I smack my pinky toe on a chair? Silence answeres. Drop my cup of coffee and narrowly avoid the keyboard of the terminal? Silence chuckles at my gaffe. All I hear is silence.
I have a brother and a sister, or had? When we were little we used to talk about what we would do if the ocean wasn’t too acidic to swim. I always wanted to be a surfer, to ride each wave and think of nothing but where I’d skim to next. Now that I can I don’t. Its funny the things you don’t miss when you have nobody to share them with. Like the sky, for example. In my youth I would have given so much for a clear blue sky. Now that it is hanging above my head daily I hardly look at it.
Want to know what the worst part of it all? I volunteered for this. “Its just ten years. I’ll be alright,” I assured myself. Now, on the anniversary of my second decade as the last human on Earth, I can’t help to think that something more was lost in the Digital Transition. Not just our bodies, but maybe ourselves too. Maybe we needed a death on the horizon just to keep ourselves sane, or maybe we never truly cared anyway.
Its fucken 2:30 AM again, and fucken Miriam Seddler (BioID: e18io42m2) is blasting her damn support center again. She insists something is unplugged out here because she can’t see her camera access to the beach restoration. Three times a week I deal with this. Does anybody chime in just to thank me? No, they’re much too busy with their sleepless role plays of life. Some of us are still made of meat here, well, one of us.
I don’t get much calls from inside anymore, besides Miriam. I used to have a weekly chat with my mom. She’d tell me how the skybox shimmered, and I’d tell her how the sky is recovering. Now, its down to about once every six months. Which wouldn’t be so bad in itself if I had someone, anyone to talk to. But all I get is more silence. I smack my pinky toe on a chair? Silence answeres. Drop my cup of coffee and narrowly avoid the keyboard of the terminal? Silence chuckles at my gaffe. All I hear is silence.
I have a brother and a sister, or had? When we were little we used to talk about what we would do if the ocean wasn’t too acidic to swim. I always wanted to be a surfer, to ride each wave and think of nothing but where I’d skim to next. Now that I can I don’t. Its funny the things you don’t miss when you have nobody to share them with. Like the sky, for example. In my youth I would have given so much for a clear blue sky. Now that it is hanging above my head daily I hardly look at it.
Want to know what the worst part of it all? I volunteered for this. “Its just ten years. I’ll be alright,” I assured myself. Now, on the anniversary of my second decade as the last human on Earth, I can’t help to think that something more was lost in the Digital Transition. Not just our bodies, but maybe ourselves too. Maybe we needed a death on the horizon just to keep ourselves sane, or maybe we never truly cared anyway.
Fucken sweet.
Miriam can go fuck herself.