T-minus 5 hours 15 minutes. What I want to do is just sleep those hours away and wake up fresh in time to go home. What I want to do is just walk out of here right now and feel the humid twilight. What I want to do is to call in well. I've been sick ever since I started here and today I am well, so I won't need to come in anymore. Just give me a job so that I can get out of this basement with its lifeless machines, no grace, no folly, no nothing. Just the cold. It makes me want to burst through the windows like some giant bird made entirely of Sidney Bechet music. This room makes my eyes hurt because all the moisture in the air is removed. They're red and bugged-out drowning in all this air. And outside are trees and bugs, warm and free. Hot as it is, at least out there is Something. In here is Nothing. This must be how the worm feels in the jumping bean, all energy and movement with no place to go. I feel like I am cheating the system by getting paid to do nothing, and I don't like cheating. I would love to work hard, even for less money. Not that I get paid a king's ransom here. Instead I am left with the options of sleeping or staring or typing. Had I a better muse I could turn my free time into a profit of prose, publish a book written from the point of view of a prisoner with all his freedoms. But hell, even this is sounding kind of tired.