Whatchamacallit

I cry myself to sleep. The newly evolved open tap style of crying. I wake up to a bitter mouth wishing I were dead. My eyes don't open due to the gunk created by my incessant crying. I get food and tea. Brush my teeth and take my bath. The household circus unfolds which underlines my general redundancy. I wish I could tell my parents that if there was a way I could die and still continue to send money, I would have done it already.
I drag myself to office. I turn on the switch which ensures people don't get in on the secret that I am a dead person masquerading as the living. I say an animated "hi" to the pretty girl who used to sit in the same bay as me a month back. I initiate a conversation with the girl I met at the office party three weeks back about the bottle she is using to brew green tea.
I get myself a cup of the overtly sweetened coffee that the machine churns out. And here let me say that this coffee has contributed more to being alive than most things in the new city. I sit at a table. A young guy with a glass of water in his hand loses his balance while trying to sit in a plastic chair. I admire his quick reflex and grace as he readjusts the chair, sits carefully and finishes the water.
I think there is a lesson for me in the episode. One should finish what is left with grace. But then, to what purpose? Does the audience matter?