Hello, I Dislike You Intensely. Have a Nice Day.

Just waiting for last period to be over. I think Alex has bad news. I don't know, though, hence the waiting. It's weird because I ordinarily would never be anticipating what could potentially be disastrous news, it's just that this time is different.

Oh no, I don't like different.

Well, no, I guess I do. Except when I don't. It's pretty straightforward, really.

We get out in ten minutes, so I should probably get some work done.

--

Something's happened.

--

I feel awful.
This is terrible.

--

And I could have prevented this.
I could have, but I didn't because I was just so fucking wrapped up in my own life. I made myself into a mummy, wrapping myself so tightly and so much that I started to rot underneath. But no, I'm not even making sense, people wrapped mummies to preserve them while everyone else rotted away, leaving only tiny traces of vitamins and bone dust and stronger-than-usual cosmic background radiation.

I think everything is hopeless.
I feel like such a godawful friend. And I feel like everyone knows, like everyone that passes knows how stupid selfish I've been and God, they must be so glad to not be me and to not have become me. And my guilt is like a giant ball of uranium streaming out cancer rays everywhere.

Fuck.

--

How did this even happen. I thought I noticed so many things, even things that weren't even there. Guess not.
Fucking hell.
She'll hate me.If she makes it.
But I can't say that. Writing it makes it real. Writing it makes it logical, or at least a linguistic logic, or the logic of chemical behavior, ink soaking into paper.
I don't want it to be logical. It's not logical. It is being trapped in a nightmare that makes no sense.
It is like the magician who's forgotten how to escape his trick box and now gets to be sawed in half.

--

Everything is too surreal. The longer I'm here, the more I feel like this isn't me, and this isn't my body or my field of vision or my hand holding this pen. That Marina never stayed in her garage with the door shut and the car still on. Or maybe she did for five seconds but she heard the phone ringing inside the house or realized there was leftover Chinese in the refrigerator or something, anything.

That this is a paranoia-induced hallucination that got way out of hand and swallowed me up inside it. Anything but the truth.

This waiting room is hell. Freezing and there's always at least one person coughing who more than likely has swine flu and some people just stare straight ahead and never move.

Oh, and it turns out Alex never broke up with Delia. She broke up with him instead. I don't even know how to feel.