Friday what?

Okay, so I have absolutely nothing to show for this Friday. I hung out with friends, and didn’t do anything productive other than burning bootloaders into 2 ATmega168 chips. And, I wrote a new story!

Friend: is reminded again that “to be lonely and to be by yourself is not the same thing.”

Me: Ghosts, that’s what they were. Machines dressed and taught to imitate a culture. Sure, they dressed like they were attending a high-class social function, and they spewed words in semi-comprehensible phrases, but they never actually said anything intelligent, no matter how one coaxed them. That wouldn’t have been so surprising, but the fact that the palace never seemed to end suggested something deeper at work. One moment dozing over a paper: the next, waking up in a red dress with hair put up, slouched in a easy chair next to the hor’devours, facing the endless rooms full of partiers. It took only an hour to figure out that none of them were of any help; another six to steal a watch from a portly gentleman exchanging drivel with the rail-thin lady, another twelve to give up hope that this was a dream. Another ten hours to fall onto a couch, exhausted, and what seemed like 5 seconds to find a shadow of a man leaning over me, a blink to find him dissolved. After that, every day was filled with wandering and fits of half-sleep, evading the shadows that came with REM. It took a few weeks until I resorted to attacking the walls with a stout butterknife, finding ordinary plaster and wood beneath the gilded facade before the shadows were all around, whispering about something before they again dissolved. A warning? Perhaps. Would doing something drastic again change *something*? Perhaps. But there was still hope that something would change, and while that still held, doing something at all dangerous could have negative effects. I was wearing away at the edge I was on, though, several weeks having been spent in a silent, furtive walk through the murmuring crowds looking for something, anything. Now, it was again time to find a couch or chair and get some rest. Wait, that man over there isn’t talking to _anyone_… looks solid enough. Maybe I’ll walk over and punch him.

Another text block-ish one. It has a slight basis in The Sleepwalkers from… holy shit. Well, I definitely didn’t intend to copy Dresden Codak when I wrote that. Well, there it is. It doesn’t have the same geek factor that would cause me to squeal with delight, though, so I guess it doesn’t really matter. Anyways, I’m pretty goshdarn tired, so I’m going to sleep. Screw productivity for the short-run. I’ll try to have something to post tomorrow.

Edit: story needed status update that it came from.