Another dream. Another long-distance call on my phantom party line. No wonder i had steadfastly refused to have dreams for most of my life. So stupid; such pointless, obvious symbols. Totally uncontrollable anxiety soup, hateful, blatant nonsense.

Killing makes me feel good.

I think that's nice, and if I could have feelings at all I would have them for Deb.

Since I am not actually a real human being, my emotional responses are generally limited to what I have learned to fake.

I nodded with genuine synthetic sympathy.

It was such an unexpected and genuine smile that if I only had a soul I'm sure I would have felt quite guilty.

But as I have noticed on more than one occaision, life itself is unfair, and there is no complaint department, so we might as well accept things the way they happen, clean up the mess, and move on.