We’ve been cohabiting for a while now, and it kills every benevolent cell in my body. The emotional wall that grew between us became even more apparent lately; deteriorating organic matter and the proliferation of slime restricts movement around the flat significantly. In the space we inhabit one door that can be closed is the one behind which, I believe, they are plotting against me, whereas I, myself, have nowhere to hide, hence forsing myself to spend long hours soaking in cloudy water of the bathtub, and taking it for the ultimate resource of self isolation that grants me a pale shadow of privacy, so to speak. I know you think that the best way out of this log jam would be to simply part ways; yet we all are bound by a rental contract, and such drastic measures would almost certainly upset our landlord. I am ashamed to admit the consequences of such action escape my limited understanding.

The other day, when I was done taking my peaceful solitude bath, I tried to make my way to the cabinet in which I keep clean underwear. I opened the door and realized that the corridor is completely impenetrable. The avalanche of slime, now hardened like lava, required cutting with the sharpest knife and digging for approximately 6 hours to get through. The ordeal, as hellish as it gets, left me exhausted, consumed, feverish. I hibernated for two nights, but after awakening I suddenly found my heart filled with cathartic hope and joy. Oh what a glory! If I’m patient enough, maybe I can escape through the mirror again.