Dear Diary,
I've lost track of how long it's been since I've had a home net connection - though the calendar says four weeks now, I know it lies, for it must have been longer. I know moving into a place of my own seemed like a good idea at the time, even though I knew there was no phone line, but I fear I was not truly prepared for it. My grip on sanity is becoming tenuous, and I have taken to roaming the streets at night in search of some other equally dispossessed soul such as myself with whom I might make a connection. It would be something, at least, even if the effective data transfer rate is pitifully slow.
My ethernet port grows dusty with disuse; my wireless cards' aerial is covered in cobwebs. These are dark times and I know not how much longer I can go on. At least the slow crawl of the clock has allowed me to truly get to know the tribe of pixies that live behind the skirting in the kitchen. Their companionship has proved invaluable so far, though their demands that I should "make them all pay" are becoming ever more strident. As ever the toaster counsels caution, and I choose to heed it for the moment; aside from any other reason, the carpets are new, and some stains are so dreadfully hard to remove...
I shall hold out for as long as I can. I pray it will not be much for me.
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Stock!