Good morning, dinner.

Pleasant way to wake up if there ever was one, heaving your guts into the sink. Not to mention the thirty minutes I spent trying to fight it down, hallucinating about deltas, thetas and random number equations carved into my ceiling and walls and hearing the same line from Dashboard Confessional over and over and over again in my head. I was pretty sure I was going crazy. I don't remember being able to discern the hallucinations from reality. It was like I was right back where I was at six years old with a fever of 105.5 degrees and nightmares of burning skulls eating me alive. I definitely didn't eat that much meat, either. I'll own up to the Cheezits, but there is no way I had that much beef for dinner.

It's how I feel when I'm around you, really. Not entirely sure what's going on. No clue where the truth draws his little line in the sand. I hold it down, fight it off, sweating like an innocent man on death row and fumbling my way around you, trying to find that stupid line. Where the hell is it? Where is the real me and where is the me I want to be? Where are we?

And then I vomit. All this ridiculous pathetic stuff. All the crippled feelings and malformed emotions. I'm so dizzy at this point I don't even care, I just spit it out, praying to God you'll catch me and understand. I never wanted to be here. I never wanted to lose track of where the good ideas were chilling in their little hammocks and where the bad ideas scrounge in the trash heaps, scratching at their leprous sores.

You don't catch me, of course. I know why. I understand. Better I be on my own, dust myself off, and maybe get bruised enough to wake up and find where I am again. I respect your right to your own actions, your own lines and good ideas. But I expect you to respect my right to my own bad ideas, too. I won't listen when you tell me to go away. I won't listen when you tell me you deserve less. It's a lie. There is no less than me, covered in puke, counting thetas and screaming about broken hearts like jewelry. Neither is there more. All choices have their diseases and their hammocks.

I'm not even sure I'm making sense at this point. I love you, sister. I love you, friend. I take pride in the simplicity of it all.