2050. The year 2020. I found the time to write this, tearing this Five Star notebook from one of the shelves. It took me 3 months to get the ambition to scale up the sliding ladder and get it down from that top shelf. I hate heights. Good thing my habitat for now is pretty stable, just three flights of nothing. Most of the bottom shelves I’ve swept through, the cereal aisle is by far the least raided. I hate Raisin Bran, Frosted Flakes, and Fruit Loops. But they last the longest, so I save that for later for my future self to curse and think Why did I bother to live so long. I like to think that would be a nice treat. I have just been trying to eat the most perishable items first. That consisted of the strawberries, meat, and gallons of milk. There’s not much to write about, and my hand is sore from writing this much honestly. I feel like I’m back in kindergarten and should be writing on those 1-inch wide sheets of paper with the lines in between, those kid books are in aisle 3, and kids make me sick anyways. I’m a sufficient human being. I’m a great human being. The peak of health I think. Though I curse the world when the scent of manure reaches the 3rd floor, I think everything is fine. Ah the manure. I think one day it will eat me. I’ve been shoveling it into one of the crawl spaces, and I tried to find the lowest possible location for it. I mean some of it I use for fertilizer, for the pumpkins. I read in one of the Nutritionist Daily catalogs that pumpkin has a lot of vitamin A to help your eyes. Unfortunately, my pumpkins had already sprouted before I got to the end of the catalog that said they were a diuretic. The cows won’t complain though. I keep them all one the first floor, enclosing them with the big metal baskets that contain basketballs and socks. How I got them in there is a different story. I took inspiration from my favorite dog Lassie, and really all you have to do is be assertive and they follow. I’m also their personal chef. While there's really not much for them to eat, I give them Raisin Bran, so I credit them for making my future Raisin Bran purgatory shorter. It’s hard to bring myself to think about one day slicing them with the Henckels Classic 15-Piece Self-Sharpening Block Set. I was never a vegan beforehand though I can understand why it was popular. For as much as I hate their manure, I hate the thought of killing them more. Cows supposedly live for 20 years, so I’ve just been trying to keep them alive for that long. What's worse than a pooping cow is a dead cow. Where would I even store them? I’d have to be Superman if I could lift them to the sealed doors on the second floor. Plus, the freezer on the first floor is full. Full. Did I mention there used to be bulls? Aggressive little things, I didn’t know what to do with them. It was supposed to be temporary. I just threw a couple apples there, hoping, but not knowing they would go there. But they went, and I shut the door. I wonder if they are just sitting there, like the ice cubes with chattering teeth. I hope the best for them, maybe the freezer will act as a device for cryogenic sleep, in which they will magically wake up once the big people get me out of here. News reporters 'ill search the whole place, push aside the sloppy pile of sofas blocking the freezer doors and they’ll tell me. I’ll be labeled “Cryogenic Bull Girl” and Walt Disney’s family will swarm to my doors to get the secret. Who knows?