Wednesday, June 2

I've locked myself in my room for the past two days. I yell for Mr. Happy Puppet Head to bring me food, and he does. He makes the best sandwiches. He even cuts it diagonal, puts the little toothpicks in, and puts a pickle on the side.

I just sit on the edge of my bed and watch the balloon, the balloon watching me. It floats from side to side, but never comes towards me. We keep our distance.

What do you want, balloon of destiny. Balloon. Of. Destiny.


Why do such strange things happen around me when I'm holding you? The Charles', all that burned toast, the toilet overflowing with shrimps... one of the strangest things is the occasional loss of physics. I'll drop a pen and it'll do a little dance, change colors a few times, then slip neatly into my back pocket. Neat trick, but creepy.

Things like this never happened before the balloon. that balloon of destiny. should I pop it? should I sleep, then pop it? I've been sleeping very little, just light dreamless naps. I don't trust that balloon.

I just don't trust it.

that balloon.

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