Bills, bills, bills.

Everyone complains about bills.

I, on the other hand, get to rant about pills.

Pills, pills, pills.

The pink one, the tiny one, the one that hurts to swallow; the one I need three times daily.

So much medication.

I'm losing track. I'm a trainwreck. Chris is a huge mangled trainwreck.

I forget the date. I forget what time of day it is.

Some pills make me sleep. Others keep me awake.

I lost my former life's consistency. I sleep any time of day. Sometimes I sleepwalk at 4 AM. I worry that one day I'll walk right out of the house and onto the nearby train tracks.

The police report would read, "Zombie omitted three doses of pills."

"Such a shame," my friends would say.

If I had any friends. They all got conveniently busy upon learning of my unstable condition.

Sometimes I can't remember what got me to this point.

On bad days, I remember. Blazing breakup, family illness, chaos and then burn-out at my start-up business. Stress. Anxiety. Angst. Depression. Self-loathing. Loathing of others. I want(ed) to disappear. Or die. Same difference.

On good days, I forget by visiting my one last refuge. My last bit of comfort. A good iced mocha offers me sanity in a take-out cup. Silly as it may sound, chilled caffeine makes my neurons happy. With a boost of serotonin be