Reminders of my own insignificance (self pity in three flats)

So the newness has worn off, and I have grown all too accustomed to living in this brave new temporal plane. Dr. Forbes has me on some new meds, and the nightmares, daymares, and seizures have subsided somewhat.

Perhaps this would be a good time to take stock of my situation and decide on the next course of action:

My ex-girlfriend keeps writing and calling me, but since I live four days ahead of her, I can never take her back. She will never see the world like I see it. She will never see herself like I see her, as a boring, slightly nosy, and altogether smart-alecky prima donna with too much trustfund and too little ambition. Fuck you Diane, for the final time hopefully!

I was unable to take advantage of the winning lottery numbers in last weeks Super 7 jackpot. Dr. Forbes has patiently explained to me that if I send the numbers back to myself 4 days earlier, I might accidentally rupture my already tenuous hold on this spacetime eddy. Like a jet ski ramming through a roped off section of the beach, reserved for Mrs. Harper's grade 3 field trip, the thrill of the moment would be overshadowed by the horror of future consequences.

My supervisor is coming! Yikes!

"Thanks for calling Comcast, this is Morton speaking, how can I help you today?"

"Cut my digical cable back on right now!"

"Did we cut it off, ma'am?"

"Yeah, you fuckers cut it off cause I ain't paid my bill, but I ain't received a bill yet! You cut it off, now cut it back on!"

"Ok, ma'am, I'd certainly be happy to take a look at your account for you, can I start with your home telephone number? ..."