Getting to the door is more difficult than I might have thought originally.
The time loop seems to repeat about every five minutes these days. It’s only a matter of time before we reach mass capacity.
Sartre writes that hell is other people. Obviously, he had never been here.
I’ve been living the same day for days now. Maybe weeks. I don’t know.
Something big’s going to happen today. Wait.
Something big’s going to happen today. I just know it. It’s been foreseen.
I can’t drink my coffee. My hands are too small, and the cup is too big.
I have doomed us all. It cannot be undone. Again.
I have a routine every morning. Had.
Someone’s sending me messages after hours, I think.