My head hurts. I should be going home. Actually, I should be home now. How do I explain my absence to a woman who doesn’t understand the joy of the Internet, nevermind that of Ficlets? Why don’t more people rate my work? Why don’t more people comment on it? Why aren’t my helium ratings higher? I don’t care what anyone says, that garbage in 1st place is an indicator that the system’s rigged. Maybe mine’s not the best, but that thing certainly isn’t either and it shouldn’t be making money like it is. I should leave. My headache is probably due in large part to hunger. There’s food at home. I do want to get to be on time for The Daily Show. I don’t want to deal with the innane ennui: how was your day & all that crap. I don’t know why I procrastinate even when it’s something I want. I should look into that. Later. I should clean my death trap bedroom. Cable guy should get combat pay for walking through it to connect me. I should clean my desk. This is no way for a professional assistant to work. OK, home it is.