Status: Active
Of Rage And Love
And Now You've Gotta Do The Time
"Time for your meds." I glance up as the average-looking, middle-aged nurse bustles into my room. She hands me a polystyrene cup filled with water, and places two pills into my other hand. "Is your lady-friend coming today?"
How the hell should I know? She comes and goes when she pleases, just like she always has done and always will do. I think, irritated, as I swallow. I don't say anything, though. I've had enough trouble with these people since I was shoved in here 'for my own safety'.
She gives up trying to get a conversation out of me and leaves. I breathe a sigh of relief, and then move the paperback notebook that they gave me - to 'document my thoughts and feelings', have you ever heard such crap? - so that I can get to my book. It has my day-planner stuck to the front now, but me being me I haven’t exactly filled it in properly. It is a contents table, the last year and a half of my life spelt out in black and white, carefully ordered for easy reading.
She helped me convince my doctors to let me keep it, on one of the occasions when she'd graced me with her presence.
God, I sound so ungrateful. I know why she doesn't come every day. It's the same reason as why she left me for what we both thought would be good. But she came back then and I know she'll keep doing it.
How do I know that? Because we're in this together.
How the hell should I know? She comes and goes when she pleases, just like she always has done and always will do. I think, irritated, as I swallow. I don't say anything, though. I've had enough trouble with these people since I was shoved in here 'for my own safety'.
She gives up trying to get a conversation out of me and leaves. I breathe a sigh of relief, and then move the paperback notebook that they gave me - to 'document my thoughts and feelings', have you ever heard such crap? - so that I can get to my book. It has my day-planner stuck to the front now, but me being me I haven’t exactly filled it in properly. It is a contents table, the last year and a half of my life spelt out in black and white, carefully ordered for easy reading.
She helped me convince my doctors to let me keep it, on one of the occasions when she'd graced me with her presence.
God, I sound so ungrateful. I know why she doesn't come every day. It's the same reason as why she left me for what we both thought would be good. But she came back then and I know she'll keep doing it.
How do I know that? Because we're in this together.
♠ ♠ ♠
Shoplifter; Green Day; American Idiot B-Side