but most of all....

Who's watching...?

The question keeps bouncing around in your head. Since the storm Sunday knocked out the modem, two TVs, a fan, and a cordless phone, you've been forced to use COB's crappy cable connection. On their crappy computers. This means that there's no Firefox, no Photoshop, and the popups cut through IE6's token blocker like a hot knife through butter. Worst of all, of course, is the paranoia. That girl on the terminal to your left. Is she looking at you? Don't turn you head. Don't. Your ego knows, knows full well, that she's not, that she's staring intently at her screen, wondering if you're looking at her work. Your id reuses to believe that. It tells you to guard your screen jealously, to cover it with an overcoat, if you even owned one.

Stop it, says logic. They don't care about you, They're not spying, it's all in your head.

But what if They were? argues your psychosis fiercely. What it they're watching your every move, just waiting, waiting, waiting, to pounce? I want to impress upon you the need for extreme watchfulness. The enemy may come individually, or he may come in strength.

If the whole world is a trap, just a simulation, then my resistance would be futile, your ego replies tiredly. Shut up. I need to finish looking at pretty pictures. A samurai is not coming to kill me as I sleep, and a pillow would not stop him if he did. Be quiet. Stop checking our email for replies to our Livejournal comments. I will get a girlfriend, and my skin will clear up, whether you will believe it or not. If a man with 80% burns can get a woman, so can I.

Your psychosis subsides into a low grumble, and you get on with updating your blog.

//yeah.../most of all...


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