Bugs

It is November 18, 2009

Some crazy little Mexican doctor thinks my temperament is too high, he thinks I should be regulated. I’ve been too emotional for everyone’s comfort – even my own. The only people not raising a cry from me are Jodie (we just don’t talk) and … that’s it. So I can not react to hurt and pain only if I avoid someone? That’s insane.

So if I’m included in this discomfort, then it only makes sense to take a damn pill. So there you have my opinion of it, the damn pill. Said it twice. Do I want to be in pain, crying, dejected, or do I go it real? I can't make out the difference. So I’ll take the pill. What makes a person cry? Constantly? A high temperament apparently, whatever the hell that means.

Someone who had visited the town once asked how I survived Muscatine … with the projectile-vomiting people at Holiday Inn or that sickening smell that continuously blows from Kent? Or the millions of fucking bugs! And I read these things, and I figured something out (Yes, Something wants out.) I went from millions of fucking bugs to millions of fucking people. I can’t handle anything in the millions! What an enormous realization! I need a fucking mountain.

(Stay off my punctuation. I hear things differently.)