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January 30, 2011
My brain is fuzzy. Hazy. A blur. Sh. Shhhhhh. Don't make sense. Quiet. I'm tired.

The shrink was nice. I liked her. She gave me medicine. I haven't taken it yet. Will it make me feel better? I hope so. I'm tired of feeling like this.

Perhaps they will get me out of this house. Perhaps on a bus. Perhaps to the library or a bookstore. Perhaps away, far away from here.

"I'm tired of picking up after you," he said.

Funny, I thought. All those clothes on the floor were yours. The dishes too. The trash? Yours.

Funny man.