This place is killing me. Still awake over three hours after posting my usual “off to bed!” on Facebook, just out of a bath that I took because I was ready to scream at the prickly pubic hair growing in. Washed my hair while I was there because it’s been a few days. Heart pounding. Realize as I step into my room that I’m holding my breath; I let it out. Breathing is a task that requires my focus and deliberate attention, not something I’m doing without trying. I feel the knots throughout my body, the tension in tendons and scrambled-up muscles. This is a place where I am angry, I am tense, I am so full of ugly emotion that I feel like exploding, like grapes in a microwave, like an apple under a sledgehammer. I was horny earlier, got distracted, didn’t do anything about it. Now I’m so wound up that relaxing enough to get myself turned on again isn’t really an option. Then again, neither is screaming and screaming and screaming until I’ve let a little bit of this out. And there’s nothing available to destroy that doesn’t matter; I could benefit a lot from crowbar and hammer to wooden pallets, for example, or an old mattress, or other unwanted and broken furniture. Sleep is the only escape i have, and it’s so little, and so insignificant in its assistance. At least I breathe when I’m asleep.