What do you think?
Rate this book


134 pages, Paperback
First published November 1, 1996
Having the presence of mind to know "I think I'm God" instead of "I am God," and especially to say "I'm manic" makes my admission debatable. The hospital is overcrowded and it may mean I'm coherent enough to go home. I always become perilously coherent in a small room before inquiring psychiatrists. Sitting in front of them I become my own worst advocate and they're ready to release me.
I don't know where I should be.
But when I'm done and I've eaten and was not hungry the thoughts come back. I can't go to sleep. I can't concentrate on television, a book or music, there's no diversion possible. I count the hours until Monday morning. If it's Monday it is four hours until i have to wake for work, If it's Sunday, oh God let it please not be Sunday. I move to another chair in the dining room just to do something. Nothing's different here. I sit for a while blocking and then I move into the living room. Blocking. Blocking. I have to piss, and that's something to do like eating and drinking and I go to the bathroom and piss while looking at the sink, and there is my razor. It all comes up like vomit in my head. This is intolerable and if this is intolerable then why go on with it? I finish pissing and feel the gates shut tight in my head. I climb into bed and snuggle with the blanket pretending that I can't move to protect myself from going back into the bathroom, I feel the pins in my hands but I push through them fighting my way back to sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. I beg my way back. When I wake it's lighter outside and so I go into the bathroom to get ready for work not looking at the razor. A shower is too difficult and so I put some water and soap under my arms, put on a clean shirt, and go back to bed thinking I don't want to go to work. I don't want to go to work, but let it be Monday.
come to my blog!