He looks how I feel

My name is Fritz, Shrödinger’s Cat,
I sometimes wonder where I’m at.
Within a small world I exist;
My master, he’s a physicist
Who talks of protons, neutrons too,
Held in place with magic glue.
He’s weird and in his element
Performing this experiment.

Actually his name is Dylan
And we're both contemplating a wasted evening
He's depressed by the wind and the rain
With me it's "eight hours - then work again".