My appliances don’t understand me. Random shuffle fails to keep measure with my tics. Unfriending strangers no longer fills me with a frisson of spite. I have been sleeping too much, and in my dreams, great rolls of fencing escape from captivity and flatten trees and houses. I go for long walks with my eyes shut because some days it’s too much work to focus. The slower I go the more I stumble, like a bench grinder with a decaying belt. I’ve been too happy. As my friend the skull likes to point out, it takes no muscles at all to smile. Glowering is a lost art.