my simulation

I eat my lunch on the eleventh floor of my office block, which is dome shaped and makes me believe in simulation theory. When you look down over the edge, you can see eleven layers of offices, and in the middle, on the ground floor, tiled square flooring and tables and chairs and tiny little suit people. It kind of reminds me of playing a computer game, like I could just grab someone by their hair, their limbs just manically flailing all around them, and drop them onto another tile, and when then when I drop them, they would just like, walk into the wall or something, and then straighten their tie, and push the button to the lift, and stand in it, silently, forever, just up, up and down, down, down and up, cycling through the different levels, not entirely sure where they are, or why they are here, or how to speak to the other little sim that’s travelling up and down with them, for eternity, because they’re not even programmed to know how to get out of the dome, or the lift, clearly, for that matter. And then when they feel like it they can go up to the seventh floor to jump from the balcony, to kill themselves, or more likely, break their false legs or their false back or their false neck or something, because they can’t jump from any higher up, there’s glass panels installed from upwards from the eighth floor, almost like working in a place like this inevitably leads you to this conclusion, almost like this is just a part of the human condition, or the sim condition, given that these people just obviously aren’t real, as I have just decided, right now, here on the eleventh floor, protected behind the glass, unknowing if i am safer here, or even more trapped than them.

I am eating my lunch, on the eleventh floor, and I have just fallen out with my boyfriend via text because he is not giving me enough attention. I need to go outside and vape my head off before my lunch ends, and when it is over I will vape in the toilet cubicle. There is a hot guy who works in my office block, who I am fairly certain is a real life human and not a sim, and I know this because he works in the kitchen and not in legal, and I know this because the hottest men always seem to work in kitchens, they have this rugged, sad look to them, and greasy hair and calloused hands and smoke one hundred rolled up cigarettes a day. They finish across your stomach and fall asleep face down immediately after, arm splayed out across you, mildly disappointing, always endearing.

My boyfriend still hasn’t replied and my need for attention is rapidly increasing, and God has a funny way of giving me what I want the most when I need it the most, with the hot kitchen guy complimenting my fur coat whilst we wait for the lift together, and with twenty simish round eyes just blinking back at me when the doors ping open on level eleven. I used to work in a school with another mysterious man who was kind to me on my lunch break. He would roll up cigarettes for me and hold all of the doors open for me and walk with me to the end of the street and tell me about how he thinks I should stay in his spare bedroom so I could escape from my evil ex boyfriend. Unfortunately this man has now blocked me on every social media platform and I often wonder about what life would have been like if I did just stay in his spare bedroom one of those times.

I no longer live with my evil ex boyfriend. I live in a two storey flat on a high street, about two minutes away from where I lived with my ex boyfriend and moved out from eight months ago to live with my parents, which is obviously a weird one for me, because now I’m like, back, in the same place, with an entirely different life, and I still don’t know how to exist.