Up Up and Away by Jeremy Glass

I'M tired. Six-thirty at night and I was already considering bed. What a day. What a miserable, long, cold day. Rescuing the elderly from fires, unlocking secret spy codes, rotating the damn earth on its axis. What a goddamn day. I slumped down in my favorite recliner and threw my cape on the hat rack. Missed. My apartment was a mess.
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“Shut the hell up!” Katherine Cricket shouted, smacking the thick jar upside the head. “I’m going to work.”

“Whatever,” the urn replied, unwavering. “See you later. I’m gonna drink all the Smirnoff while you’re gone.”

This was a completely empty threat, and she knew it. The one time it had tried that bullshit, it nearly wept itself into hysterics over the resulting sogginess. Not that it would have made a difference, anyways—she was already on the list of “ones to watch” for mental instability after rushing it to the ER one night for a chip. They needed to stop hanging out so much.

One cloudy morning in early May I woke up after seven good hours of sleep and got up to check my email. I have a well-guarded email folder. I receive about five emails a day, all welcome, no spam. My filters rock. A friend of mine in L.A. has twenty-four thousand emails in his box. “How can you live with such clutter?” I asked. He shrugged. “It’s not like it’s taking up a room in the house.” I wanted to say that he was wrong, that cyber clutter is as bad as boxes of folders tucked away in a dusty attic…but that sounded silly, so I said, “I guess you’re right.”