Woke up from a dream about being tied to my worktable while someone slowly, methodically took me apart piece by piece. Not the fun kind. Just... dismantling. Like a machine that's served its purpose. Fuck, maybe I am. Spend all day making other people look perfect while I feel like a collection of mismatched parts held together by spite and caffeine. Someone make it make sense, or better yet, don't. I'm not in the mood for your platitudes.