Friday, May 27, 2016


Aren't hard drive failures just the best? What's even better is that in the time between the failure a few weeks ago and buying a new one the other day, I've had plenty of time to compile my notes.

-There's a family of seven that always leaves in threes, and it seems they have to be invited back into their own house. Strange family tradition?

I have to doubt it's just a family quirk. Why wouldn't the adult at least have a key?

-The same car circles the block every day at the same time.

Creating the image of normalcy to account for some variation in my daily schedule?

-Fake plants in the garden, watered daily at the same time.

Again, creating the illusion of a normal suburb.

Why go through all the trouble? Why not just have real plants?

There's more, but I'm keeping those on physical paper for the time being. I've begun noticing errant patterns elsewhere in town. The dollar theatre hasn't updated its selection since I moved back, despite several blockbusters coming and going at the major theater next town over.

Of course, I've begun catching familiar glimpses out of the corner of my eye when I stray too close to the woods again. I hope he didn't think I'd discounted his role in my life just yet.

Sunday, May 1, 2016


Four times per day.

That's how often the sullen old man across the street waters his plants. Plants made of synthetic fibers and paint.

A yellow car from the 80s drives around the block thrice before pulling out onto the main road. Every morning, at 8 AM sharp.

Six of the ten houses on my street are either couples with no children or singles living alone, like myself. I've been told a common symptom of various psychological disorders is seeking a pattern where none exists, cherrypicking the evidence to support the conclusion.

I've spent all week observing the same patterns emerge, day after day, timed to the very second. Not even the world's most punctual worker with obsessive-compulsive disorder will circle the block three times and pull off to their commute at exactly 8 AM, not a second after the clock turns, and be gone by exactly 8:05.

Which begs the question, why uphold the illusion of everyday suburbia only to allow erroneous patterns to emerge? I highly doubt it's something so elaborate or conspiratorial as them all being paid actors to help me reintegrate with society. Not when I've known many of these people since childhood--or at least, I've known of them, memorized their faces, and never thought to question their routines before the events of this past year.

Methinks someone's mask slipped and they've forgotten to fix the strings.