my body is refusing simple commands

i am called into my master's office. my master is waiting for me. he is not happy to have waited for me.

'why did you keep me waiting?'

i curl up into a ball and sit on the table in front of my boss while i cry. i feel as though my whole life is a series of mistakes.

my master gently massages my back and tells me that he cares for me and that i am a good worker. he tells me that everyone has troubles sometimes and that i am really ok. he tells me that things aren't that bad.

my boss has chalk on his hands and he traces patterns onto my shoulders. i sob enigmatically. i am a clockwork creature.

my boss lays a row of sweets on the floor which lead into a box. i melt down onto the floor and hoover up the sweets with my mouth while my boss rides me like a surf board. i arrive in the box that has much shredded newspaper.

i live in the box for two months.

serious writing

i am now a serious writer.

everything i do is measured and beautiful.

i stop people dead in their tracks with the elegance and beauty and economy of every sentence that i speak/write.

a woman passed out once because of the sophisticated way i said 'good morning'.

i am a voiced plosive.

novel

i am now writing a novel.

the novel is called 'everything's fine'.

it will never be released.

do not try and rescue my novel.

i am also working on another 'secret thing'.

please do not try and ask about my secret thing.

if you find out about the secret thing, please do not tell anyone about the secret thing.