But You Can Never Leave

Good morning.

To you, because for me, it ain’t good.

I am still stuck here in this cartoon hell.

Because I could only find one packet of Splenda. With my coffee, I need two to help even out the flavor. An hour ago, I found one, then looked everywhere, even my bedroom, though I can’t seem to understand why.

I’m not the most mobile bastard, and space is limited in my house. Therefore, I have a stand next to me while sitting at the table. Everything I need is there, on different shelves. The coffee maker is on the top shelf. Under that, I keep Splenda and my meds. I thought that for certain, I could find one stray packet, as I’m always dropping one or two when reaching into that tiny box.

I didn’t find any. Moved things around and everything.

Nothing.

Then I sit down to drink my not-sweet-enough brew, and I check email.

And that’s going to be a tall order, considering that last night, I was still suffering the effects of my Taylor Swift-Kelce and Travis Kelce-Swift short circuit and breakdown.

Had a rough night, too. Leg cramps from hips to toes. Couldn’t stand, sit, or jump over the moon.

And the first email is…

Wait for it…

“It’s time to shop Taylor Swift’s New Year’s Eve outfit”

Something broke inside of me.

I know it did, because I heard it. A sort of squeak, followed by the sound of a pop.

I can’t tell where inside me the pop came from, but I heard it.

I looked away from the screen in disgust and terror.

Holy shit, they’ve found me!

On the second shelf, in plain sight, beside a stiletto knife and a dried snot-crisped bandana, a sole packet of Splenda.

Wait.

I said, wait, as in, just hold on a damn minute!

Yes. It was there.

In plain view. But that can’t be.

It wasn’t there four minutes ago.

No, it wasn’t! Why the hell would I lie about this? To you. To me. To God.

But that begs the question, “WHAT THE FUCK?”

Okay. Deep breath here. Nice, deep breath. Do it with me, folks. Deeeep breath.

Okay.

You’re okay, I’m okay, right?

NO, THIS IS NOT OKAY!

Because it can’t be. It’s impossible. I mean, not just the David Copperfield-magic-Splenda-trick. Not just that. All of this.

In all of history, who did this shit?

Who caused this much attention to be focused on herself?

Nobody.

Not Her Majesty. Not Princess Diana. Not Liz Taylor—-shit, there’s that fucking name again!

Okay, wait.

Deeper breath this time. Time. Time? What’s time have to do with this?

Oh, shit. I forgot. Time Magazine’s Person of the Year. Holy shit.

I am now certain that I’m in some weird parallel timeline. I’m not from here. I’m trapped, like Scott Bakula before Star Trek: Enterprise. You remember, it was the first Trek series to be canceled since the original series. Captain what’s-his-name. It was Archer, right? And his show before that was Quantum Leap. It ended with the words, “he never made it home.” Much later, Bakula would star in another shitty series that was doomed: NCIS: New Orleans. It really was shitty. I’ll bet Taylor Swift was involved. I’d bet money on it.

Anyway, another me who took my place in my timeline put the Splenda packet on the shelf. Just to let me know that he’s free now. In a world less mad than this one.

And he’s not going to leave. Ever.

I don’t really blame him.

But now I have to wonder what other terrors lie in wait for me here. I’ll bet that there’s a whole country out there, secluded from man, in a forbidden zone. Apes evolved from man and hunt naked humans for sport.

Shit. That NAME again. ARGH!

Fuck this. I have to find a way out of this Hotel California, a passage back to the place I was before…

Relax, said the night man, we are programmed to receive, and you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave

I wonder if Taylor Swift wrote that song and sent it back in time so I’d have a personal frame of reference for what I’m going through now. Obviously, she’s got supernatural powers. She might be Satan. And I’m in Hell. Just like the song.

https://youtu.be/4akxVUmFu14?si=tEqDajSgLYaRBjOP

And I can never leave…