I walked into my room today and thought, "Is this
my room?" Smells like something I read about once. Maybe Burroughs. Is this my room? I walked
over to the bed and sat. The bed sits lows, and creaks slightly sometimes. It
didn’t creak, but instead I got to listen to the churning of the fan, and
wondered what its velocity was. Is it a high velocity, is it not so high, unimpressive even? Am I thinking about an unimpressive fan? I sat on the bed, and my stomach hurt, then my
foot hurt, and then most of my body was in extreme pain. I thought, “Am I not
supposed to think about the fan?” and the pain persisted until I was crying,
and I thought about those people with Irukandji disease, those poor goddamn people. They are in such great
pain, such excruciating, unbearable pain, but then the pain isn’t so bad, and
the disease makes them think that they should die. That the only way to get rid
of the ominous pain that will come back, just when they’re least expecting it,
is to die. Intensely suicidal.
People keep knives away from them. I didn’t have people with me, and I did have a knife next to my bed. I really had no one there. No one there to push the sharp objects out of reach as I writhed in pain. My eyes were closed and I couldn’t see, but it felt like I was Cyclops and my vision was red and I thought I could see the dresser and the drawer with the knife in it. I grabbed the knife and didn’t look at it; it was red. It shook in my hand, and I thought, I have Irukandji disease. Was I stung by a jellyfish? Have I been stung by a jellyfish under my bed? Maybe my roommates are playing another trick on me, waiting to come out from under the bed with jellyfish, saying, “Aha! Surprise! We got you. Happy half birthday.” I always forget when my half birthday is, and my arms have blood on them now, but the pain has begun to subside. My body was playing the trick. There is no one under the bed. My body has been trying to surprise me. Why did you do that body, I think. I don't have Irukandji disease. I think I'm just fine, actually. My body doesn't answer "why did you do that," instead there's just blood on my sheets, and no more coins to do laundry. I sighed, deep sigh, long sigh, quiet crying sigh, and walked to the door. Is this my room?
People keep knives away from them. I didn’t have people with me, and I did have a knife next to my bed. I really had no one there. No one there to push the sharp objects out of reach as I writhed in pain. My eyes were closed and I couldn’t see, but it felt like I was Cyclops and my vision was red and I thought I could see the dresser and the drawer with the knife in it. I grabbed the knife and didn’t look at it; it was red. It shook in my hand, and I thought, I have Irukandji disease. Was I stung by a jellyfish? Have I been stung by a jellyfish under my bed? Maybe my roommates are playing another trick on me, waiting to come out from under the bed with jellyfish, saying, “Aha! Surprise! We got you. Happy half birthday.” I always forget when my half birthday is, and my arms have blood on them now, but the pain has begun to subside. My body was playing the trick. There is no one under the bed. My body has been trying to surprise me. Why did you do that body, I think. I don't have Irukandji disease. I think I'm just fine, actually. My body doesn't answer "why did you do that," instead there's just blood on my sheets, and no more coins to do laundry. I sighed, deep sigh, long sigh, quiet crying sigh, and walked to the door. Is this my room?
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