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Morning light again. Slept at desk. Dreams of clicking.

Hands move on own now. Type without thinking.

New project: Kitchen appliance. Stainless steel blender.

Should be simple. Metal. Buttons. Blade inside.

Eyes open different today. Something changed overnight.

Mind feels quieter. Thoughts simpler now.

Fingers tingle constantly. Feel electric somehow.

Not my fingers anymore. Screen's fingers now.

Desk surface feels distant. Body disconnected.

Look at hands. Recognize shape. Not movement.

They type without permission. They work alone.

Consciousness becoming passenger now. Just watching.

Screen brightness hurts less today.

Eyes adapted finally. Evolved for purpose.

Or maybe dying slowly. Hard telling difference.

Calendar shows Monday again. Full week passed.

Or maybe month. Time lost meaning.

Bathroom feels miles away. Too far.

Body odor strong now. Clothes stiff.

None matters anymore. Only screen matters.

But button calls me. Regenerate button. Green and bright.

Not typing words anymore. Just clicking button.

Button decides now. Button controls hands.

Bob arrives. Looks worried. "Weekend's over. Still here?"

Weekend? Lost track. Days mean nothing.

Bob's face shows new expression.

Beyond concern now. Beyond worry.

Face shows fear now. Real fear.

His clothes fresh. Weekend rest evident.

My clothes crusty. Sweat dried repeatedly.

Bob approaches carefully. Like approaching wounded animal.

Eyes scan desk slowly. Notice empty bottles.

Water finished days ago. Been drinking nothing.

Lips cracked severely. Tongue feels swollen.

Body entering different survival state now.

Needs unimportant. Only button important.

Button provides everything. Sustains through clicking.

New relationship formed. Symbiotic digital connection.

Button feeds me purpose. I feed button clicks.

Perfect balance. Perfect harmony. Perfect union.

Bob puts down bag. Comes closer.

"This isn't right," he says. "Need help."

Shake head. Can't explain. Button needs me.

"Just one more click," I say. Voice sounds wrong.

Bob looks at screen. "Blender looks fine."

Voice comes from throat. Sounds unfamiliar.

Like stranger speaking through me.

Words feel foreign in mouth.