Sleep

Minutiae. That was the appropriate word. It all consisted of meaningless minutiae.

January 10:
I quit my job at the bistro today after being there for all of 4 days. It was the way those rich bastards that ate there looked at me more than how they treated me that did it; like the way you would look at a rat you discovered in your kitchen. I was there on the recommendation of a casual friend who had been working there for over a year, and after I could not decide whether he was supremely resilient or a simple idiot for abiding such vermin. This was my last attempt to feign interest in such things. Desperation should be creeping in about now I suppose, with 2 months of rent due on Monday and only about 100 dollars to barter with, yet I only feel relief. Walking home tonight I realized that my capacity for understanding the normal motivations of my fellow human beings, which was always tenuous at best, is wholly gone.

January 11:
I managed only 2 hours of sleep last night, 1 hour shorter than the usual 3 of these past couple weeks. Perhaps it's only the reasoning of a sleep-deprived mind, but I think it has something to do with the numbers of my electronic clock. They are tinted green and when I first wake, my blurred vision seems to make out strange letters instead of numbers on its face. The times I sleep and wake are also oddly precise, only occurring at the apex of each hour.

January 12: God, it's hot today. I can no longer watch the inexorable processions of night and day and witness what should be kept only a hazy nocturnal suggestion revealed on a surgeons slab in horrific detail. The only curtains in my apartment are sheer white, yellowed now from years and the previous tenant's cigarettes. I tore them down and dug around in the dumpster down in the alley for cardboard. The smell isn't exactly wholesome in here now, but I was able to completely block out all the wretched light using the duct tape to seal the borders of each window and now am using a flashlight to illuminate these pages.

January 13: I did not sleep. Stranger yet, I don't want to. I was tempted to turn on the light then quickly rejected the notion. My clock is telling me it's noon but that means nothing in the still dark. Soon after, I wrenched it from the wall socket and smashed it against the wall. Although I didn't soundproof the apartment, no outside noise has reached my ears since putting up the cardboard, as if by shutting out the light I created a vacuum of space.

January 14?: It seems I was in a trance or hypnotized, and I could see forms in the blackness chittering softly and a vague greenish light seeming to come from a massive distance down. I have no sense of the passage of time at all now and have trouble recalling anything from what must have been only a few days ago that I...I what?

January?: I was suddenly and arbitrarily made aware of my overwhelming thirst. The ground has lost real solidity and is strangely warm with slight tremors passing beneath my feet in a regular rhythm. I counted my paces as I walked but stopped after 100 and came into contact with nothing. The flashlight's battery is dying rapidly now and that green glow is settling around me. There is something here, an alien sentience. I--