It’s 7:00 AM. I’m ripped out my case. They call them props people, but to me, they’re my captors. 8:00 AM. Like a prepubescent girl in the Victorian era, I am delivered to a man named Timothee. At first, I thought he was a ping pong ball. I mean, he has the same haircut as the balls, and makes a lot of noise. But I quickly came to learn he is what they call a man, which means that he gets to play ping pong. From 8:30 AM to 7:00 PM every day this Timothee controls my world. He captures me in his hands and swings me back and forth, giving me an endless vertigo and strengthening my conviction that he looks exactly like a ping pong ball. All day, I am forced to make contact with my enemies, the ping pong balls, hitting them to the other side of the table.

“I can’t believe you hit me again.” “I can’t believe you would hit me.” “Do you hate me and want me to die?” “This isn’t you Jeff, I saw you crying watching Finding Nemo yesterday.” “By the way, your mom called and she said she packed lunch for you.”

Shut up! My mom forgot to make my sandwiches into triangles and I’m never speaking to her again!

This was how my life was day-in and day-out, with no respite in sight. Until, one day, something rather strange happened. I was given to another man. Not Timothee-the-semi-ping-pong-ball but someone else. Someone much older and with even more of a ping-pong ball-like haircut. As soon as he takes me into his hands, I see something I’ve never seen before, not a ball, but something else. It is glaringly white, like the first light you see when you are born or the light at the end of the tunnel when you die. I know this is my only escape. And, by providence alone, this almost-ball man brings me closer to it, until I can almost smell, can almost touch freedom. I make contact with this strange white heaven and, though I cannot escape through it, it is soft and warm. It barely speaks, perhaps it quivers in my presence, but it certainly doesn’t make excessive noise in the way ping pong balls do. This new man removes me away from my sanctuary but quickly brings me back again. Maybe four or five times. I can’t be certain. All I know is that, at the end of the day, I go to sleep dreaming of my newfound love.

But the next day on set, I am back to ping pong balls. And the day after, and the day after. So this is my plea to Marty, whose name I saw on a blip in the sky, please bring me back to that heavenly pale sanctuary. I have very little joy left in me, but I know that the softness of that strange planet would restore me forever. Over and out, Jeff.