I forgot, until about 10:40, and it was a need for some sort of influence to be under that drove me to seek my medication. I counted the pills, there were three left. I don't know why I counted. I've counted them every night for the past week, and I know that Friday night I will have nothing to swallow. So I ate one, I had no other choice. Three days, I thought. Three days until a nightmare begins. Life becomes a fever-dream. Forgive me if I'm a little less than thrilled.
I probably could have gone out, or at least seen some people who would relieve the monotany. But going out would mean coming home again, and I don't think that I could stand that. Though it may not have done any good for my antisocial tendencies, I decided to abstain. Sometimes, just staying home and taking in a Cure album can be really nice.
I woke up this morning much the worse for a longer night's sleep than those I have had of late. I sleepwalked down the road to the gas station. I looked over my shoulder often, as I heard leaves rustling and suspected the worst from the rustler. I assume that my paranoia will abate in November. I downed twenty ounces of coffee before school was even in sight, and the only change in my temperament is increased irritation because I'm waiting to get a pass to the bathroom. I'll probably be directing rehearsal again, and I expect my shoulders to be in knots before three. When I get home I will be craving the drug again, and there I will be, right back where I started.
No comments:
Post a Comment