So what's your Thursday look like. Actually not Thursday — I mean the seventh, whatever day that lands on. I need to know if you're around or not, generically, don't overthink it.
Also there's a mic just sitting on your desk in that last photo you sent, unattended, which is — I don't know why that's the detail I fixated on. Ignore that.
Third is usually dead. So yes. Also, that mic? You’re looking at it wrong. It’s a gyro mic. For the drone. Obviously.
Third, not seventh — fine, that tracks, I said seventh because I'm apparently incapable of reading my own calendar right now. Dead like nothing planned, or dead like you're avoiding something.
And a gyro mic for a drone you've never once mentioned owning. Obviously. Sure. That's a completely normal thing to have just lying around.
I’m avoiding the spreadsheet. Always avoiding it. And I’m not sleeping. You noticed the mic. You’re definitely looking at the photo. Stop it.
The spreadsheet, right, the one with your name on it that you've been "starting tomorrow" since March. Some things never change.
I looked at the photo once, it's just sitting there in frame, I'm not running forensics on it. Though for something "obvious" you've gotten weirdly defensive about a microphone in under four sentences.
It’s not defensive. It’s… it’s sensitive equipment. Costs more than my car. I’m not letting some kid with a phone near it. You’re staring at it too hard.
Your car cost about four hundred dollars and ran on hope, so that's not the flex you think it is. And I'm not staring, I glanced once and now you've mentioned it three separate times unprompted, which is its own kind of tell.
Anyway — third. Dead. Noted. What time zone even is "usually dead" in your world, morning or all day.
Doesn't matter. I'm gone. Don't come over. Seriously. The light hits the lens if you stand near the window. Just… don’t.
Wait — thirty seconds ago you were free, now you're gone and also I'm banned from the window because of the lens. Which lens, the drone's, the mic's, are we building a whole surveillance rig now.
I wasn't planning on coming over anyway, calm down. Though you're doing an incredible job of making a Tuesday sound like a heist.
It’s not surveillance. It’s… testing. Light sensitivity. The gear. I bought it cheap. From a guy who didn’t know what it was. I’m just… calibrating. Stop looking at me like that.
I'm not looking at you like anything, we're texting. You bought expensive light-sensitive gear cheap from a guy who "didn't know what it was" — that sentence alone should worry you more than it worries me.
Calibrate away. Third, no window, no visit. I've written it down wrong on three different surfaces already so it's basically canon now.
Good. You write it down too much. It’s like you’re keeping records. I can see you. The glare… just don’t.
There's no glare, I'm in a room with the blinds down and a laptop that's older than some of your gear. You're the one seeing lenses everywhere tonight. Go sleep, or don't, but stop narrating my apartment like you've got eyes in it — unless the drone's already airborne, in which case, unrelated question, is it above my street right now.
No. I’d hear it. The hum. It’s distinct. You’re imagining things. Go to sleep, Tess. Please. Just sleep.
"I'd hear it" is not the airtight alibi you think it is, that just confirms you know exactly what it sounds like and where it usually is. Fine. Sleeping. Third, no window, gyro mic stays a mystery I've decided not to solve tonight because I genuinely cannot keep my eyes open anymore.
Good. Third. No window. And stop trying to solve it. You’re making it complicated. Just sleep. I have to go fix the lens.