Controlled Oats

It's my morning ritual, every single day, no matter what, although given it started the night before, I suppose technically it's my evening to morning ritual.

Every night, I clean the mason jar, then I put into it the oats, the chia seeds and the milk in the jar, then the yoghurt, the vanilla extract, then in the sole part that can vary, some fruit, depending on what is cheap.

Stir until smoothed, lid on, in the fridge.

Then I eat it in the morning.

I absolutely hate it, every time. But it's a pain I control. I need that.

The Enemy

I could have told her, going in, that she was  going to end up broken by the end of it. That like so many before her, she'd be ground down and have at least her spirit broken, possibly also her mind and body.

But I had expected her to be broken like all the others, to get chewed up and spat out in pieces, left for others to fix.

Maybe, in my darkest moments, she'd be left 'whole' but forever altered into a different person.

But I never, ever, thought she would end up like them.

Like a child again...

Complications

The secret communication system was designed to be totally innocent sounding and fitting any circumstance, but at the price of being rather complicated.

Any note dropped into his letterbox, seemingly from a neighbour, had to he cross-referenced with what the weather was meant to be the day after, the score in any games played by half a dozen sporting teams, seasons, and a dozen other factors.

But the only one they overlooked was an actual neighbour writing an actual note about his car, that would translate to immediately abort the mission.

Because honestly, who writes notes to neighbours these days?

Technical Fruit Salad

"And now we have entrant eight, George?"

He approached the table, placing a bowl on the table. The judges looked at the bowl confused.

"Uh, salsa?"

"You could call it that, sure."

"Well, it looks lovely, but this is a fruit salad contest, and-"

"And I've got my fruit salad here."

He placed an ingredient list next to it. One of the judges looked it over.

"Tomatoes, olives, cucumber, corn, three types of bell pepper, jalapeño...

Oh, oh, right, technically they're all fruits. Fine."

Luckily, one of the judging criteria was sweetness, so they were able to ensure it lost.

Misplaced Tips

I visited the coffee shop twice a day, once on my way into work at 6am for my breakfast dark espresso, and once on my way home from work at 6pm for my evening milk tea.

So I got to know the guy who worked mornings, and the girl who worked evenings, fairly well. And when they both admitted to me that they had a crush on someone else who worked there, I guided them together, probing them softly, giving them tips on what the other liked.

Until I found out there were two other workers for the lunchtime shift.

The Helix

The bridge crew froze when the second orbital laser cannon blast came towards us.

We were dead, albeit in a minute, so all we could do was try to work out how the enemy had developed a way to fire a weapon with a 24 hour cooldown twice in 10 seconds.

We quickly ruled out false data about the cooldown, a second cannon array, and some sort of illusion.

As we settled on some sort of time distortion must be in play, impact occured.

...

The bridge crew froze when the second and third orbital laser cannon blasts came towards us...

Why I'm Feeling Bad

So I'm not feeling great.

The question is, why?

Am I just in the traditional "Xmas to New Year to the point where everything is back to normal" funk?

Am I ill, physically, due to my having a mild bug, or the important bug, or just due to my acting as if I have a bug due to the aforementioned funk?

Am I depressed, due to the state of the world, both due, again, to the important bug, but also by all the other issues plaguing the world that I'm individually unable to solve?

All of the above, I think.