Ticky tack.

 Haunted by the squeals of the tape deck as it rears its shiny head countless times a day. Reeet urr reeeet reeet.

Life now littered with what appear to be condoms in their uncomfortably individualized packages. I promise. I promise they're just lens wipes. Promise.

Morning routine reduced to lassoing my neck with a name tag. Lassoing. Neck. Hello! Nevertheless the children know me strictly as camera-lady.

Time whiled away playing connect the dots with the mosquito bitey flesh wounds accrued over 12 days time. Itchy itch. Scratch scratch.

A distorted game of duck hunt. Clapping incessant insects. Die. Die.

My new home. A small hovel that pretends to be suite.

Eyes become glossy. Twizzling. Dots so tired from staring at virtual monotony so many hours. So many days.

The patient lock accepts the pesky key once again. How many times will I cross this threshold?

My job is magical. Mundanely magical.

Thrilled every moment. Even amidst the mundanity. Sanity. Slipped through the speakers.