i can feel it, the slow drain. pushing me down. the heat’s not helping. when it gets this hot i tend to not think very well, can’t get my thoughts straight, you know, and i start winding particular thoughts around anxieties. this is what the summer is like. it’s like i don’t belong–not that i’m unique, i don’t feel that way at all–but that i don’t belong here, that this isn’t my place, that these aren’t my people. now i know that’s all bullshit in a way, that’s me giving in, but i still feel it and it’s hard to get away from it. them’s the breaks. every year it happens, like a little reminder of my slow failure. and i roll with it because there’s nothing else i can do. or at least that’s how i feel. like the world’s passing me by.
no. i’m tired. that’s it, i’m just tired. people think i’m strange for sleeping for eight hours. can you believe that? i tell them, “when i’m tired i feel like killing myself,” and they laugh and i have to remind them that i’m serious. some people get grouchy. to each their own. [tearing up] see, now you got me here, at the end of the spiral. the bottom of the canyon. it happens. just let me get through it, i don’t need you to make me happy. i hate that shit. i don’t need your pity, i have enough of my own. all i need is understanding, and a place to sleep. just give me a good night’s rest and i’ll be better in the morning.
