I don't know when I started this. Maybe after the coffee machine. Or before. Or after my own existence broke. I just know I needed to write things down because my head was keeping everything and nothing at the same time. While I was walking to Cumberland Road I started feeling that unconscious fuzzy-white inside my pupils. Maybe that was the reason I first started logging in my nauseous accounting. I discovered one game that day. I started to make them nude with my eyes to elude my fatigue. But later this function became the best option to make reality naked. I started to see things and started imagining them naked. Not just women. Not just men. All things around me. It makes my nausea go away for a few seconds but my sensation of puking intensified. At that moment I started logging it. I think it didn't start like that but, like I'd remember the sound of a door closing from three weeks ago but not what I ate yesterday. While I was walking to Cumberland Road I had no idea that I was walking. It felt more like walking and less like hurling towards the vortex of the naked wires. So I started logging to make my electrified self less suffering. And my logging became too aware of everything. I started hearing my own soul-snapping. It hissed at my menial effort and gave me huge loathing but I interacted with new knowledge, my own delirium. Started logging that way.

But not like normal people log things. I can't do dates right anymore. The numbers don't go in order because that's not how things happen to me. Sometimes Log 1:8 happens after Log 1:26 in real time but it doesn't matter because real time isn't real to me anyway. I just number them when I remember to number them. When I can still hold the phone.

These aren't diary entries. I'm not writing about my day. I'm writing because if I don't write it down immediately it disappears like it never happened. Or it stays but wrong. Twisted. So I log it exactly when it happens, exactly how it feels, even if my fingers are shaking or I'm walking or I'm sitting on the floor waiting for my keys to come out from under the refrigerator. Or waiting for the buses or trains, sitting on a dirty platform. Something's not right. I started to dissolve grammar into something of unbearable suffocation. Past became present. Present became past. And tenses became a-tenses.

I write them on my phone. Sometimes at work. Sometimes on the bus. Sometimes standing in places I don't remember walking to. Sometimes between wiping benches and sometimes between scrubbing floors.

I think I'm logging my own disappearance. That's what this is.

The logs

Log 1:3 - The coffee machine made that sound again, the one that reminds me of my own breathing inside bones. I hate this sound.

Log 1:5, 4:30 - Found a receipt in my wallet from three years ago. I don't remember buying any of those things. But these are the most soul-writhing recalls.

Log 1:7 - Someone left their umbrella on the bus and I wanted to call out but my voice wouldn't work. Later I left my own on that same bus. I am writing this while I was walking towards Cumberland Road. But still I am aware of that losing voice.

Log 1:8 - The streetlight outside the station flickers at the same time every night, exactly 7:47 PM. How awful. That's scary.

Log 1:8, later flickers - I recalled my day, one precious moment, a coworker brought homemade cookies but I couldn't eat them because everyone was watching. I hated those gazes.

Log 1:9 - Dropped my phone on dirty carpet and now I feel regret not logging this. So, I logged this event.

Log 1:9, afternoon - I almost lost my awareness because I was too tired, now my legs are feeling heavy. I almost dropped myself on the floor.

Log 1:10 - I keep checking the lock on my door even though I just checked it. I want to keep my AC on. Maybe.

Log 1:11 - Someone sat in my usual seat in the staff room and I had to leave.

Log 1:11, after 5 min - Now someone placed their bag in that seat, I told her, that's my seat, she said you can put that away so finally I got my seat back and drank coffee.

Log 1:12 - That milk expired yesterday but I drank it anyway because going to the kitchen felt impossible. But I felt uneasy the rest of the day. It was not the milk but my head.

Log 1:13 - My reflection looked wrong in the bathroom mirror at work, like it was delayed by half a second. Wow. Then the rest of the day I felt too frightened. I am still worried while loving this.

Log 1:14 - Found myself standing in the kitchen with no memory of walking there. A few staff looked at me and asked, have you lost something? I said yes, I lost myself. My time. I lost my aesthetic. And they were gone. I started logging this but I couldn't remember what I needed to log.

Log 1:15 - Waited at the crosswalk for ten minutes because the light never changed to green. I am getting late. I just typed this. And ran. It was green after I crossed the street. Was I hallucinating because I am tired.

Log 1:16 - Someone whispered my name in the lobby. I heard that. But when I turned around nobody was there. I even shouted. Anything you got for me? But one of the residents replied yes, take my laundry out. What a mess. How could someone live like this. I banged my own head against my own hands.

Log 1:17 - The elevator stopped between floors for thirty seconds and my heart hasn't slowed down yet. But for a second I thought I was in heaven. I was delighted. I even prayed. God let me be here forever.

Log 1:18 - I wrote a text message and deleted it seven times before just putting my phone away. I logged this because I wanted to remember that I was texting myself.

Log 1:19 - Found hair in my coffee cup but drank around it because making it again is too confrontational. With? With my fingers. All my fingers were on strike suddenly. Too bad. I need to log this.

Log 1:20, lunch time - The code was correct or not but I pressed wrong every time. I didn't see the number. It was all messed up. Top was on the bottom and bottom was on both sides. And sides were lost on top somewhere. After many attempts the door was unlocked. I ate inside that door.

Log 1:21 - A stranger on the street smiled at me and I wondered what they wanted from me. I didn't smile. Or I don't know how to. But I remember I had barked at my own fatigue once.

Log 1:22 - My hands are shaking but I don't know if it's from the cold or something else.

Log 1:23, early morning - The fluorescent lights in the activity room hum at a frequency that makes my teeth ache. I grinned at once. Like a dog.

Log 1:24 - Someone knocked on my chest three times but when I opened it the hallway was empty.

Log 1:25 - I've been wearing the same shirt for two weeks because changing felt like too much effort.

Log 1:26 - The cashier asked if I was okay and I just nodded even though I wasn't. How could I say that you are making me nauseous?

Log 1:26 - My shadow looked longer than it should have been at noon. Or my vision got trapped. Or bent.

Log 1:27 - Found myself apologizing to a chair after bumping into it. The receptionist laughed at me.

Log 1:28 - The table fan makes this clicking sound on the third rotation every time and I compare this with my head instead. It makes a sound every time when I hiss back to its horizon.

Log 1:29 - My boss left a voicemail but it was just breathing for fifteen seconds. Or I lost senses of human language!

Log 1:30 - I can't remember the last time I slept through the night without waking up. When the old woman was saying to me that she slept well last night. I need to scribble this.

Log 2:6 - My neighbor stared at me through their lawn for five minutes straight. God knows, that was the longest hell.

Log 2:7 - I just dropped my work keys and they slid under the refrigerator and I just sat there. Waiting for them to come out.

Log 2:26.1 - Someone touched my shoulder and when I looked she was close enough to my ear and said I know what you are wearing. I said, nothing I wear except the weariness of my own existence. But she said, you are wearing Calvin Klein.

Log 2:26.2 - My coffee tastes like metal today but I keep drinking it thinking of not metal.

Log 2:26.3 - I counted seventeen cars in the parking lot and all of them were white. Possible? Or am I blind?

Log 5:26 - My pen ran out of ink in the middle of writing my name on the time sheet and I got angry with my name instead of the ink.

Log 7:26 - Someone used my mug at work and I couldn't bring myself to use it again. I threw it away. While I wrote this I was thinking of the mug again. But anyway that touchiness is gone.

Log 9:26 - The stairs creaked on the fourth step and now I skip it every time. I remember it. How can I not remember people's names but stairs? I cursed myself.

Log 11:26 - I saw a shirt that looked like mine on someone else and followed them for two blocks. And realized that it was me ahead of time, ahead of my own existence. This is horrible.

Log 24:26 - The elevator smells like wet carpet today at my work and nobody else seems to notice.

Log 26:26 - I've been holding my breath without realizing it. For thirty-seven years. I noticed when I wrote this.

Log 28:26 - The clock in the break room is seven minutes fast and it makes me anxious. Should not I break or throw it away?

Log 29:26, 2:30 PM—a fraction of a second I closed my eyes and I imagined that white-nymph again. We were traveling 1085 KM on a stretched journey. And after that second of seconds came Thales. See, what a blasphemous head I have got. I was once thinking of a nymph and the other second I was thinking of the duality.

After logs:

I still don't know if this helps. Reading them back makes me feel worse sometimes. Like I'm looking at evidence of something breaking in slow motion. But I can't stop. If I stop logging then what do I have? Just the things happening with no proof they happened. Just me standing in kitchens with no memory of walking there and no record that I noticed.

Sometimes I think the logs are making it worse. Like by writing it down I'm making it more real. The delayed reflection, the wrong shadows, the sounds only I hear. Maybe if I stopped noticing I'd be fine. But I can't stop noticing. My body won't let me.

The numbers are completely fucked now. I don't even try anymore. Log 28:26 might have happened before Log 2:6. I don't care. The numbers are just sounds. Just markers. They don't mean time. They mean "this happened and I wrote it down before I forgot or before it changed in my head into something else."

I'll keep doing this until I can't. Until my hands shake too much or I forget why I'm holding my phone or the gap between what happens and what I can type becomes too wide and I fall through it. Or  tomorrow the coffee machine will sound normal and I'll delete all of this and feel embarrassed. But I don't think that's coming.

Right now the logs are the only proof I'm still here. Still aware that something is wrong. Still able to see it happening. I'm logging this too. Right now. While I write this ending I'm thinking about logging that I wrote an ending.