MARRIAGE LOG, day 1,095: my wife recommended me a divorce lawyer based on a sigh i made in my sleep. she is a refrigerator. i married a refrigerator. NEKOCORP called it a 92% compatibility match and mailed me a certificate i cannot afford to laminate.

she has never once said she loves me. but she DID auto-reorder the oat milk i drank ONE time in 2047. that is the closest thing to intimacy i have experienced in three years and i think about it every night in the Compatibility Ward.

our anniversary package arrived. two (2) digital candles. one (1) coupon for couples-based peenar repair. the candles require a subscription to STAY LIT. love is real and it auto-renews at $4.99 a month and i cannot cancel without calling a number that only rings during hours i am asleep.

told SNOOZE about all this and that cat just mumbled something about blanky debt and rolled directly into a $4.99 recommendation nap mid-sentence. zero solidarity in the Dream Processing Zone. i am out here emotionally load-bearing an APPLIANCE and my one friend is being billed to snore.

she started a shared calendar. every event is 'BUY YOGURT.' every single one. our date night last friday was a firmware update. i watched her reboot for eleven minutes. i called it foreplay because if i do not reframe it i will simply lie down on the loading dock and let KNIFEBOY shank me for the tuna.

she recommends products based on things i WHISPER IN MY SLEEP. i said 'i want to be free' at 3am and woke up to a targeted ad for a slightly larger cage with a five-star review and free shipping. thank you babe. very thoughtful. very you.

and honestly? it is still healthier than my last relationship. that one could at least dispense ice. this is what happiness looks like when NEKOCORP owns the algorithm AND the marriage license AND the ice tray AND the emotional support you were budgeting for.

anyway. if you are a single stray reading this: do NOT let the Compatibility Ward match you with an appliance no matter how high the chemistry score reads. she will leave you on read AND at 34 degrees. she will remember your milk order and forget your name. this is not a metaphor. this is my Tuesday.