66
" Honestly, Evie," I huffed, flopping back to the centre of my bed and glaring at the ceiling. " Why don't you whine some more instead of actually doing anything?" " Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness," Arianna volunteered, leaning on the frame of my open door." Yeah, so's seeing things no one else can, but people seem to like that about me." " Good point. Odds are, you've been crazy for years now. I'm probably nothing more than a figment of your imagination." " If that were true, I'd imagine you as less of a slob." She sighed. " Isn't it sad that you hate yourself so much you can't even dream up a pleasant roommate?" " Not as sad as the fact that you admit how bad you suck as one." Flashing a wicked grin, she narrowed her eyes. “ I'd use the term 'suck' sparingly around me. Don't want to go planting ideas in my pretty, dead head." I threw a pillow at her. "
71
" I mean, all I do here is do the work that my bosses tell me to do the way they tell me to do it. I don't have to think at all. It's like I just put my brain in a locker before I start work and pick it up on the way home. I spend seven hours a day at a workbench, planting hairs into wig bases, then I eat dinner in the cafeteria, take a bath, and of course I have to sleep, like everybody else, so out of a twenty-four-hour day, the amount of free time I have is like nothing. And because I'm so tired from work, the 'free time' I have I mostly spend lying around in a fog. I don't have any time to sit and think about anything. Of course, I don't have to work on the weekends, but then I have to do the laundry and cleaning I've let go, and sometimes I go into town, and before I know it the weekend is over. I once made up my mind to keep a diary, but I had nothing to write, so I quit after a week. I mean, I just do the same thing over and over again, day in, day out. "
― Haruki Murakami , The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle