. . .

I have spent the last three days, lying on my right side, on the old green sheets of my broken-down bed, watching endless episodes of Battlestar Galactica, drinking expensive vodka, and ordering the occasional bacon, pineapple, jalapeno pizza from Papa Johns. I have become morally, physically, emotionally corrupt.
At times, I wish I were one of the few human survivors in the aftermath of a robot-induced holocaust. I think that might force me to feel invested in something.