While I had the flu, I slept and slept and slept and slept. Now I'm tired of sleeping, yet I'm also tired. What fresh hell is this? How I suffer. Perhaps I should make a piece of performance art out of this nightmare. How much do you think I could make off a guy sitting at a desk roughly like this one, surrounded by books roughly like these, staring with insomniac eyes at a laptop roughly like the one before me? Maybe I should scatter some socks around - I hear things like that are big at MOMA and The Tate.
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