For over a month now I have not experienced more than a few decent hours at a time. On occasion I want to take the pills and shove them up the collective ass of the psychiatric establishment.
Today my niece pecked away on my typewriter and ran her fingers all over the typebars, and I thought, jokingly, future typewriter mechanic.
No, she will end up in a relevant position, one would hope. But the thought speaks to my own often irrelevant dreams. These days I just want to escape my mind.