A Collection of Spectacles


I’m a little sick. I was more sick last night and this morning, (I had a fever this morning) but I took a lot of nyquil and slept everything away. Drug induced sleep is really dumb, pointless. It’s dreamless, numbing like real sleep with all the excitement and creativity taken out. The entire time I kept thinking, My liver is going to fall off, because I know how bad acetaminophen is for it. Anyway, Claire brought me steamed vegetables because she’s the nicest person ever, and I called her Mom a billion times. My real Mom brought me a doughnut. This is all really pointless and I’m kind of just posting to post. 

In other news: I’m kind of alone, but I don’t want to get too close to anyone. I end up constantly frustrated as a result. I wish someone would just fall out of the sky and be perfect. 

I may post more later. I’m not sure.

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In an effort to become an honest reporter, and in the spirit of full disclosure, my mom brought me to “talk” to someone last week. I can ramble on for a whole session, and she writes things down on a notepad, says, uh huh so they really don’t understand you. She asks if there’s any history of mental illness, and I say, probably on my dad’s side, but none of them have ever done anything about it.

I wonder, why their quirks are so apparent to me, why I even notice them. 

Something in me wants to know if everyone believes that life has a surreal quality sometimes.

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