Just as I was falling asleep again after the recurring nightmare about the house with thirty basements that are actually a portal to hell, the fire alarms went off in our house, making it, too, a portal to hell, an existential one that can only be reached by way of six interconnected wireless fire alarms blaring and yelling FI-YUR FI-YUR FI-YUR all at once.

This is the third time this has happened in less than a year with these fancy alarms the life partner installed, the ones that should last ten years with no issues. Maybe time’s moving faster than I think. Maybe years are decades and decades are eternities. Maybe I’ve been here forever and so have you.

The alarms are terrifying our dog, wrecking our sleep, and allowing my body to rehearse going into flight mode, which isn’t what it needs to be doing. My intestines got so upset, I think they consumed themselves and left a ball of iron in their place. I guess I’ll have to learn to live on air and remember to avoid MRI machines.

I’d rather die in a house fire than ever hear another fire alarm go off. I said what I said.