Fuck that room on the fifth floor.

9-16-09 1607 I’m back in this goddamn room again, this godforsaken room on the fifth floor. It’s the same as it was yesterday, except one of the blinds has worked it’s way open just a bit. I can almost see the sky, I can almost remember that there is life outside this room, I can almost remember that I’m not locked in here as though it’s a poorly constructed cage. I can almost remember that this isn’t a movie that I’m playing a part in. I can almost remember that this isn’t some ridiculously vivid dream that I’m going to wake up from. I can almost remember that it’s September, that it’s 2009. I can almost remember that I’m alive. It doesn’t make me any happier to be here, that I can almost see the sky. None of these almost make me want to be here anymore than if they didn’t exist at all. I just paid attention for a moment and I’m thinking that I should not have. None of this has anything to do with Stratification. Maybe she just enjoys hearing herself speak and saying the same things over and over a thousand different ways. I don’t know. I hate this room just a little more every time that I’m here. I’m not sure how it’s already Wednesday. I thought that just yesterday I was waiting on a Monday morning sunrise to save me from myself. I’m not sure that it actually did. I think I might still be drunk and I think it might still be Sunday night somewhere. I’m not still drunk enough to make this class interesting though. I should have brought the liquor with me, but I didn’t think through my cunning plan. I haven’t slept yet. Fuck you, insomnia, fuck you, sobriety, and fuck you, Wednesday afternoon.

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