Twenty-Eighth Day

I had an overnight epiphany: pencils are often transported without tapered ends because it means less wasted space in the boxes and less damage to the pencils themselves. At least, I assume that's why. Logic - or what I can approximate to it in my mind - dictates this as a solution.

But since when did logic - or what one takes to be it - prove infallible? How many times have I discovered that something which I assumed to be so due to logic is so not because logic dictated it be so, but through chance, circumstance, or even due to thought processes completely opposed to logic.

Still, whatever the case, whether they ship pencils blunt to save space and cash, or whether they do it just to fuck you off, I'd love a computer about now. I could go poking around on Wikipedia, search "pencil", "transport" and "overheads" in Google and, bob's your uncle, I'd soon have an article on the advanced cost savings to be made by transporting pencils unsharpened.

"Bob's your uncle"? Bob would be uncle. If I had a computer.

No, all I've got is a pencil. I'm in the Stone Age. It's back to the future, at least for another fourteen days. In fact, speaking of mildly apocalyptic circumstances and the disappearance of modern technology, by my mental tally, I've been in (not "inside" - I'm not a prisoner; not yet) for twenty-eight days now.

What if, like in that film, I emerged tomorrow to find that, twenty-eight days later, the whole of modern civilisation had been wiped out by zombies?

Shit, how would I get out of here? That door's locked.

Keep writing. If you don't, you'll get up and try and unlock the door. And then they'll think you're trying to escape.

Keep writing.

Keep breathing.

Don't panic.