I am going insane. Due to my surgery I have become bedridden. This means I have been sentenced to solitary confinement, so to speak, until I am able to walk out of my house on my own two feet. By doctors orders I am required to keep my foot elevated above my heart pretty much twenty-four hours a day. Side note, I’m also supposed to quit smoking during my recovery period. Needless to say, I have cheated on both.

Even with my minor indiscretions I am stricken with cabin fever. I haven’t left the house in days. I can count on both hands how many minuets I have spent talking to my friends on the phone. I have seen more B-movies on the television in this short time then I think I have in my whole life. And, worst of all, since I have been left to my own devises, I have been left alone with my own thoughts. I am bordering on paranoid schizophrenia. For one, I am constantly wondering what my friends are doing. What are they doing? Where did they go? Why would they rather go out and enjoy life when they could be here entertaining me? It’s disgusting how selfish they are. It makes me ill to my stomach. Well, that and the Vicodin can be a little hard on my system. So now I am calling and questioning them on what they did that day. Not because I am specifically concerned about how they are doing, but I need a body that I can live vicariously through.

But I haven’t got to the point yet to where I am sitting alone in a dark room and having in-depth conversations with Napoleon. Oh no, not me. So far, I have only been visited by people like Louis Pasteur and Rutherford B Hayes. Sweet Jesus in heaven, if I have to sit through one more long winded speech on milk bacteria I am going to shoot my sub par, lackluster delusion and then myself.