The real world is where telephone calls come from. I don't live there anymore, having moved to this almost certainly imaginary place in 1986. Here I have no actual life, but only a virtual life. I am, as it has been said, an Internet sluggard. My connection to the lost world of reality is tenuous, at best. Maybe I need something like Skype, but I'm afraid of being on web cams. I'm pretty sure they steal souls. Not that I think I have a soul, but I can't be sure, can I?
Then I got to see an Englishman murdered by another Englishman on television, though not in England but the Caribbean, which is a nice change. I can say that English murders are just as engaging in a place with balmy weather as they are in Great Britain itself. I look forward to seeing more Englishmen murdered in the islands.
One thing I didn't get today was dinner. My stomach has been annoying me all day, and the thought of actual food didn't appeal to me, but I was hungry so I ate a little bit of cottage cheese. It is possible that this was a bad idea. I might make some grits later. I might just drink a bottle of beer. If my stomach ever gets to the point that I can't drink beer there will be no point in going on, and I'll probably just go to England in hope of being murdered.
There might be Ritz crackers in the cupboard. I'll have to check.