Wednesday, June 26, 2019

Bored



by Jim Rousch

Don't call me oppressed.  I'm fucking bored, because I'm in a motel room with nothing to do.

The least someone could do is mail me a book of matches and a gallon of gasoline, but the problem with that plan is that everyone will know who did that, so there's point in doing something that stupid.    Hence, I just have to ride this one out.

I didn't do well in the class I was in-except for the last week.  I knew it was that mood stabilizer the very moment I finished three weeks in one. I also knew that was the problem when I returned to normal.  All I knew was that I couldn't do my research-and it annoyed the hell out of me, because I didn't feel like myself.

The wrong medication in a damaged brain like mine spells fabulous disaster, but on the other hand, my psychiatrist told me that over 99 % of babies who acquire meningitis don't make it to grad school-and I wonder if that is because they aren't pushed, like I was.

At least I know I'm bored.