This is the life, she thought, as she sat in the hospital bed recuperating from...what was it? Something had transpired that put her here; something pretty bad, she's guessing. She's got the pain in her elbows and knees, the dull throb on the right side of her face, and the little fluid bag thing which must mean something bad happened, right?
The nurse would be by again, she posited, and figured she could try asking some questions then. It would be fine to keep doing what she remembered doing for the last few hours, which was drifting in and out of a druggy sleep.
There isn't a mission. There isn't a goal. It's just words on fake paper, sliding and tripping and flowing all over the place, because we're all full up on words in here and there is no way we can keep them inside. Like Tony says, "Nothing in here is true."
Friday, April 10, 2009
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