amw (amw) wrote,

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notes from the suburbs

What's the price of freedom? $47 a week. $47 for a public transport pass allowing unlimited travel into the city. Buses are infrequent at night.

At night the residential streets are deserted, wandering the aisles at Wal-mart is a pleasure and sometimes i wish there were benches around to sit and watch the stars. It makes me want to start smoking again.

In Chinese restaurants they dress in silk and serve everything battered and deep-fried, like a geisha fish and chip shop. An order of duck is indistinguishable from lemon chicken. It sits in my stomach like a lump of lard while playing Scrabble with bickering relatives.

Prescribed medication increases the nausea. How long should the chain of medicating side-effects get? Pepto-Bismol leads to fitful sleep, interrupted by a migraine and puking.

A housewife wakes by 8am, shouting orders at her gardener from the back of the deck. Grass is cut noisily, the dog barks relentlessly. Phones ring and ring. The leftover duck will not be eaten. It's too bright outside.

I need to pull myself from this bed and try to eat more than a slice of bread and socialize with family. I need to go to school later. Tonight i was volunteered to babysit overnight. When can i breathe again? Forgetting. Yet still not enough to occupy my mind to healthy distraction. Words sometimes come out before the thought, or maybe it's the other way round and they didn't catch up. I get myself into trouble. I have money to live six months without work, if i am extremely careful, but i never figured a shrink into that.
Tags: anxiety, bird in a gilded cage, crazy, depression, freedom, sick

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