You seem to be in one piece again, except for your EYE, of course. Office fire. You don't remember perfectly.

The ROOM changed a lot after the plank maze absorbed it, simplifying and degrading with every wake-up, but it seemed to stabilize a few hundred ago. It's as if the room completed a sort of "decomposition" process, and this is what's left of the "skeleton," as it were.

Your trusty MACHETE was once again propped against your wall. Who or what puts it there? Who or what puts you back in bed? You've given up trying to figure it out, but you're thankful for such a reliable weapon.

Your HEALTH DRINKS are safe and sound. You're still not sure how they work, but one swig seems to mend your wounds.

...Except your eye, of course.

Nobody has taken that KEY you found, not that it matters. It only unlocks garbage bins.

HAROLD is right where you left him. You used to talk to him, but now you just use him to let your stress out.

Your EQUATIONS never amounted to anything. You were a wiz back at the office, but nothing seems to work the same in this world.

You try to just ignore the DARK HOLE in the wall. Has it gotten bigger or smaller? You can never tell. You don't want to.

Your JOURNAL has a layer of dust on it, since you ran out of anything especially new or interesting to write down. Shouldn't that mean there's such a thing as time? Things keep telling you there isn't any time, but it seems more like time is just more relative here than it is back home, and might run in different directions for different entities. There's a progression of events, clearly, and not everything "resets" like you do.