Dear Diary. I work from home. This means I'm invariably by myself all day. Just me, by my lonesome. No other souls.

Not today though. Today I have company.

It's a fly, you see. There's a fly that keeps landing on my laptop screen. It's on my laptop screen now, as I write this. The fly's rubbing its legs together.

The thing is, I don't want a fly for company. A supermodel maybe, but not a fly.

The fly seems to like me though. Because out of all the places in the apartment it could be, the fly has decided to spend the whole day on my laptop screen. Occasionally, it'll fly down to sit on my bare arm and hand.

I wish it would go away. But every time I brush it off it comes back,

I can't kill the fly. That's not because I'm too squeamish. It's because I don't know how to kill it.

I have a flyswatter somewhere in the apartment but I'll be fucked if I know where it is. We also have a bug zapper but I don't know where that is either. I could try opening a window but then I'd have car fumes and noise pollution coming into the living room and I'd rather just have the fly instead.

So for now, the fly sits on my laptop screen, rubbing its two front legs together.

Maybe I'll build a machine to merge myself with the fly. Girlfriend will come home and find me in the living room, half-man half-fly, laying eggs in a pile of my own feces.

On second thoughts, maybe I won't do that.