I've Got Nothing

I'm sorry. I've got nothing.

I am acquainted with hospitals and televisions lately.

I'm so tired of hearing the expression "pressured speech."

Books I find more difficult.

Illness should not resemble Las Vegas relocated to Hell.

Illness, if it must occur, should announce itself, identify itself clearly and give promising prognosis, hope of cure, treatment, surcease, balm in Gilead, all the good old-fashioned poetic words.

It should not pirouette on the interstate long after midnight, hide its true face, or cause one to fear mirrors, husband, and human narratives.

It should not fear speech, reckoning or consciousness.

It should not render you an animal on a gurney, but sometimes it will.

Depakote is a horrible drug.

I am so sorry I ever took it.

I had been getting better before I took that drug.

Lithium had messed up my body bad a few years back.

But they told me it was nothing like that.

And I trusted.

CNS abnormalities, hematological abnormalities, fucked up my tongue, tardive dyskinesia.

Yeah, you might look fine on a platelet count but find out what your platelets look like.

The new strategy is bumrush the FDA...they have money set aside for the body bags. Those drug companies.

Don't you wonder when you see the YAZ commercials running right next to the YAZ ambulance chaser commercials.

It's all in their accounting.

There are no surprises on that side of the fence.

Only on this one.