Selfish, sluggish, sinner. I have my saints. Accidental suicide is where I tried to sleep. Mother beckoning. Checking my sanity. I was lost for reason. For some reason. For nothing at all. Three days and no sleep. I know people say no sleep even when what they're referring to is the opposite. If you slept for an hour, that's sleep. When I say it I mean it. No. Nil. Nada. Not a fucking second.
Doctor Dick looks me over. My sleep is over. I look over. Well over in fact. Well done. But mr. Dick does not want to deal with my shit. Not today. Not anyday. Not anyway. But way sir! I'm not drug seeking you silly prick shitface. Oh and doc, what should I take for sleep. Benadryl, he said. Sufferage. This suffer age. I suffer hear real. Ok dickface, I said. Bought me some Benadryl when I got home and I took a handful. Then another for good measure. They were very small pills. I took 68 of the motherfuckers. What the fuckage?! Stupid age. Fuck age.
Now my mom, mother beloved, much more Saint than sinner. A classy, sensical woman. She makes sense. She likes things to make sense. She likes me to make sense. It shows on me as nonsense. Logical. But nonsense regardless. Let me get back to the woman I love. Mother beloved. Mother be loved. She's there insisting at me. Requiring a coherent answer, she questions me. Relentlessly. I'm am being selfish. I am feeling sluggish. Dazed and confused. Alright, alright, alright. I'm putting words together. Nonsense. Mothers upset. What did u do? Why so impaired? Why so bad? I am bad. I'm bad at making sense. I tell her about the Benadryl. I think that should suffice. Doctors advice. I am finally falling out. Sleep wants me. Just let me sleep. That brand new bottle of aspirin in my moms hands weighing light. Too light for her liking. She counts. Adds. Subtracts. Substrate. You took 68? I suppose so. So! I did so sir. Sir I done that thang. Now let me go. Sleep wants me deep. But sleep is stopped. Consciousness, my mothers desire. My mothers wish. Who am I not to grant her the benefit of my lackluster mindfulness. I mind. I'm full. I mind less. Less and less. But I let an unconditional angel be my guide. I'm not right. Give it to her. She's right. She knows what makes sense. Her under one arm and my aunt under the other. They help me to the car. They help me to the Er. My visit begins. Too much aspirin. One of my lesser sins reprocussing. Reproduction. Transformation. Becoming. I exist in a 24 hour hold for my transparent psychosis. I am watched. I pee with the door open. What do I care? I've been sleeping a while. I'm awake for a fleeting moment. Momentum lays me down. Closes my eyes. I'm a dreamer.
What the fuck are you doing here?! She asks in a vehement whisper. Her face an inch away. I'm looking up into familiar eyes. I am being watched. Now being looked at. Looked into. Slow, steady, seriously she begs the question. Face to face I'm faced. I'm faced with inquiry. My situation. I start the process of my figuring. I should know. She wants to know. How ridiculous is this? I'm assigned an all day and night babysitter. A companion for the betterment of my reasoning. My companion demands. She want to know. She want to understand. I need to find some sense. My face turns into an inevitable grimace. What else could I do but smile. Smiling and starting. Stopping and starting. There will be an answer. Our faces almost touch. Her eyes look into mine. Honesty a must right here. Her voice insists. What the fuck am i doing here?
On and on going my much needed rest. I awake to a pretty face. A face I know. My babysitter is my friend. A real friend that I know in real life. The life temporarily on a suicide vacation. Reality is all too real. I smile in my funny story. Definitely a traumatic kind of funny, but funny none the less. This old friend of mine. Assigned to make sure I don't hurt myself. What she must have thought when she saw me lying there. Is that? Shit. That's Fisher. How long did she wait. After recognizing me there. How long did she look and think before asking me. Before leaning down and awakening me with her concerned bewilderment. I know what she must have thought. It's Fisher. What the fuck are you doing here?! Nose to nose she asked in earnest. I should know. I don't. I do. I do know. I start with what sits in my memory. Clear and present. In the here and now I can begin to explain. Explanation very necessary. I need to be serious. But I need to lighten the heavy as much as possible. I need good sense. My mind calls on my mother and her sensical self. Show many did she say? Oh yeah. 68. Apparently too much. She still looks over me. I start my answer. I begin a
Selfish, sluggish, sinner. I have my saints. Accidental suicide is where I tried to sleep. Mother beckoning. Checking my sanity. I was lost for reason. For some reason. For nothing at all. Three days and no sleep. I know people say no sleep even when what they're referring to is the opposite. If you slept for an hour, that's sleep. When I say it I mean it. No. Nil. Nada. Not a fucking second.
Doctor Dick looks me over. My sleep is over. I look over. Well over in fact. Well done. But mr. Dick does not want to deal with my shit. Not today. Not anyday. Not anyway. But way sir! I'm not drug seeking you silly prick shitface. Oh and doc, what should I take for sleep. Benadryl, he said. Sufferage. This suffer age. I suffer hear real. Ok dickface, I said. Bought me some Benadryl when I got home and I took a handful. Then another for good measure. They were very small pills. I took 68 of the motherfuckers. What the fuckage?! Stupid age. Fuck age.
Now my mom, mother beloved, much more Saint than sinner. A classy, sensical woman. She makes sense. She likes things to make sense. She likes me to make sense. It shows on me as nonsense. Logical. But nonsense regardless. Let me get back to the woman I love. Mother beloved. Mother be loved. She's there insisting at me. Requiring a coherent answer, she questions me. Relentlessly. I'm am being selfish. I am feeling sluggish. Dazed and confused. Alright, alright, alright. I'm putting words together. Nonsense. Mothers upset. What did u do? Why so impaired? Why so bad? I am bad. I'm bad at making sense. I tell her about the Benadryl. I think that should suffice. Doctors advice. I am finally falling out. Sleep wants me. Just let me sleep. That brand new bottle of aspirin in my moms hands weighing light. Too light for her liking. She counts. Adds. Subtracts. Substrate. You took 68? I suppose so. So! I did so sir. Sir I done that thang. Now let me go. Sleep wants me deep. But sleep is stopped. Consciousness, my mothers desire. My mothers wish. Who am I not to grant her the benefit of my lackluster mindfulness. I mind. I'm full. I mind less. Less and less. But I let an unconditional angel be my guide. I'm not right. Give it to her. She's right. She knows what makes sense. Her under one arm and my aunt under the other. They help me to the car. They help me to the Er. My visit begins. Too much aspirin. One of my lesser sins reprocussing. Reproduction. Transformation. Becoming. I exist in a 24 hour hold for my transparent psychosis. I am watched. I pee with the door open. What do I care? I've been sleeping a while. I'm awake for a fleeting moment. Momentum lays me down. Closes my eyes. I'm a dreamer.
What the fuck are you doing here?! She asks in a vehement whisper. Her face an inch away. I'm looking up into familiar eyes. I am being watched. Now being looked at. Looked into. Slow, steady, seriously she begs the question. Face to face I'm faced. I'm faced with inquiry. My situation. I start the process of my figuring. I should know. She wants to know. How ridiculous is this? I'm assigned an all day and night babysitter. A companion for the betterment of my reasoning. My companion demands. She want to know. She want to understand. I need to find some sense. My face turns into an inevitable grimace. What else could I do but smile. Smiling and starting. Stopping and starting. There will be an answer. Our faces almost touch. Her eyes look into mine. Honesty a must right here. Her voice insists. What the fuck am i doing here?
On and on going my much needed rest. I awake to a pretty face. A face I know. My babysitter is my friend. A real friend that I know in real life. The life temporarily on a suicide vacation. Reality is all too real. I smile in my funny story. Definitely a traumatic kind of funny, but funny none the less. This old friend of mine. Assigned to make sure I don't hurt myself. What she must have thought when she saw me lying there. Is that? Shit. That's Fisher. How long did she wait. After recognizing me there. How long did she look and think before asking me. Before leaning down and awakening me with her concerned bewilderment. I know what she must have thought. It's Fisher. What the fuck are you doing here?! Nose to nose she asked in earnest. I should know. I don't. I do. I do know. I start with what sits in my memory. Clear and present. In the here and now I can begin to explain. Explanation very necessary. I need to be serious. But I need to lighten the heavy as much as possible. I need good sense. My mind calls on my mother and her sensical self. Show many did she say? Oh yeah. 68. Apparently too much. She still looks over me. I start my answer. I begin a story.