Yesterday's parties have left me drained. I skip work so I can sleep all day. I'm half-awake and developing the shakes... Nothing is on TV again. There's no one talking on my telephone. It's silent here because nobody is home. My friends are at their places all alone. I'm staring at the ceiling again. I've got nowhere to be, there' no one I have to meet, can't concentrate long enough to read... But if I get back in bed, that will be the end. I know I'll be sick for days. It cannot be dismissed, and once it truly hits, I won't want to be sick or saved. Everyone else goes on with their lives when the fun is over, when the party dies. They've all got their remedies for rest: a bottle or a second cigarette. And when the day is killed, when they've had their fill, there's always girlfriends, wine, and sleeping pills... But everything is shit and I can't deal with it. My histrionic noise is part of it. But if you know the game, then you know the shame of not being able to say "I'm over it."