Are You Drunk Or Something?

Put it this way; when I’m not on my anti-anxiety meds, not only can I not sleep . . . or eat . . . but I get frickin’ sarcastic. Everything turns into eff that and eff this, and most of it’s internal. My inner thoughts are at war with each other, but that’s not even the best part. It’s like listening to a bunch of rednecks getting together and discussing french poetry or something.

It does NOT say that!

Sure it does! Wee-ZO means bird, I swear.

Well eff you man. Why the hell we doin’ this?

Would you go back to sleep for god’s sake?

What’s wrong with all of y’all anyways?

We got you up our asses, so lay off.

I swear my internal voices are saying things just like that.

Are you drunk or something?

Drunk’s more fun.

That, and my tongue feels weird.

Like I’ve been sanding it off slowly with sandpaper or something.

And I can’t stop my eyes from rolling.  Or my nose from running.

Geez, it’s a great 2 am in the world today!

I gotta go to bed.

*pounds fist on wall*

JUST SHUT UP, WILL YA???