[ WP ] : You do n't remember what you do for a living . Literally . You black out for 8 hours 5 days a week and a paycheck appears once per month .

My name is Michael Gull. It took a lot for me to press the record button. Not because I ’ m afraid of seeing myself on camera. I ’ m afraid of what else I might see. 
 
 It ’ s almost 10PM. I woke up today at 7PM. I wake up every day at 7PM, no matter how much I want to stay awake. Something - someone - inside me forces me to go to sleep at 11AM every morning. I don ’ t know what. I don ’ t know why. But that ’ s what I ’ m here to find out. 
 
 
 I ’ ve exercised, eaten breakfast, showered, and dressed. I ’ ve done everything that I normally do, except for one small difference: I have a Go-Pro hanging from my neck on a lanyard. Tonight, like every night of my adult life, I ’ m going to black out at exactly 10PM. And this time, God damn it, I ’ m going to see what happens. 
 
 ( Section separation here I ca n't figure out how to make one oh please help oh god no ) 
 
 
 Michael sat in his kitchen. A half-finished sandwich grew cold in front of him. He hadn ’ t touched it since he got back. He wasn ’ t going to touch it for a long while - probably about 8 hours, in fact. Next to the sandwich was an envelope with an old-school wax seal. He already knew what was in it - his monthly check. He removed the Go-Pro from around his neck and attached it to his laptop. He almost fumbled the new, expensive piece of equipment transferring it from his lanyard. Still, he managed not to completely mess up the most important day of his life. 
 
 This was an important day in Michael ’ s life for one simple reason: today he would find out why he blacked out every night from 10PM to 6AM to find himself eating a homemade egg sandwich at his kitchen table. 
 
 The video began to load up on Michael ’ s laptop. As he watched himself introduce himself to himself, waiting the few minutes until 10PM struck, Michael couldn ’ t help but fidget in his chair. He became acutely aware of how cheap his furnishings were, despite the hefty sum contained in the envelope not two feet from him. He felt dirty, somehow, spending that money. He knew he was being silly. And yet every time he thought about buying something for himself - a car, a couch that wasn ’ t left by the side of the road, even a pizza - he almost felt like vomiting. And so he ’ d dismiss the thought and go back to reading Stephen King novels until the next time he “ went to work. ” 
 
 Finally, his watch beeped. He wanted a good marker. He saw the top of his head dip over the edge of the camera ’ s view. After a second, it bobbed, then shot back up. Yawned. Got up and stretched. Went over to the refrigerator and got a glass of water. Drank it and sighed. Then Michael watched as his body picked up his backpack, shrugged it on, then left the apartment. 
 
 Michael wasn ’ t sure what he expected, but it sure as hell wasn ’ t this. The first hour, Michael ’ s cardiologist was on speed dial. The simple act of walking could have been ghost Michael ’ s commute to the corner where he sold drugs for a local kingpin. Any person, and there were a surprising number of people, he talked to might have been a client, ready to hand him a manilla folder with the picture of his next kill. After the first hour, when ghost Michael had just been walking around, talking to people waiting at bus stations, riding the bus, loitering outside a convenience store and chatting with the night manager, his heart rate began to calm down. By the end of the seventh hour, he began to nod off, even with fast forwarding his snooze fest of a night. Michael watched himself enter the apartment, make himself an egg and avocado breakfast sandwich, then doze off in the middle of eating it. The recording stopped. 
 
 Michael spared a glance at the sandwich still waiting for him. In the numbing embrace of his boredom, he felt a small shock, then an overwhelming sense of disappointment. After all that, he ’ d still gotten no answers. Is this what he did every night? And ghost Michael didn ’ t seem crazy at all - he spoke with Michael ’ s normal voice, was overall very pleasant, and seemed to genuinely care about the people he talked to. And that ’ s all he really seemed to do at night - talk. 
 
 He shook his head, ready to call the whole thing quits. He made money, and he didn ’ t think he was hurting anyone doing it, so what did he care? The first thing he ’ d do tomorrow morning would be to buy himself a new T.V. and a real God damn chair. 
 
 ( Section separation here I ca n't figure out how to make one oh please help oh god no ) 
 
 
 
 At 10PM the next night, Todd opened his eyes. He cocked his head, listening, thinking. He searched through his - Michael ’ s - memories. No funny business from the lad tonight. Tonight he could get back to work. Todd grinned. He loved his work. It was bloody good fun.
