Cosmic Customer Support

Ticket #13800000000

Mar 03, 2026

I asked the universe
for clarity.
They hit me back
with a timestamp in Planck time, like:
“Respond within 10⁻⁴³ seconds
or the ticket auto-closes.”

I said I was struggling.
Personal. Cosmic. Emotional.
They cc’d Hubble,
who replied with a chart of my life
plotted against redshift,
noting a “concerning trend
toward drifting away
from literally everything.”

I asked if that was bad.

The universe forwarded me a PDF
on entropy,
highlighted “inevitable disorder,”
and attached a passive-aggressive
smiley
made of baryonic matter.

I tried to explain
that my heart keeps collapsing
past its own Roche limit,
that my boundaries
are not tidally stable,
that I keep mistaking
chaotic Lagrange points
for safe places to rest.

“All bodies do this,”
they replied.

I said I felt like a Boltzmann brain,
spontaneously appearing
in the void
with too much self-awareness
and no context.

“Honestly?
Same.”

I asked if they ever get tired
of holding all this dark matter together;
the invisible weight,
the uncredited labor,
the constant expectation
to keep galaxies
from flying apart.

“Stopped caring
around the time
the cosmic microwave background
cooled enough
for anyone to notice.”

I asked what I should do
with my tiny, spinning life.

“You’re stardust.
Act like it.
Burn. Collapse. Expand. Repeat.

And stop emailing me about problems
I solved
13.8 billion years ago.

I’m not your Astrophysics professor.”

Until the next loop: keep your knots light and your vibes right.