"Not funny ha-ha. Funny that I was sitting in this restroom and the toilet paper - the sanitary tissue - had rolled underneath the toilet, where all this grime had been allowed to coagulate and I know more delicate characters probably would hesitate to ever put a hand down there. I don't know why funny. Sanitary tissue, to clean, or to be clean. To afford you some comfort that you're not as dirty and foetid as your ancestors, connect-the-dots between history and the hazy white plastic ergonomic and sterile future I think we all of us sometimes envision.

"Nothing really wrong. Or anything. I just find I'm there a lot. I feel a little guilty. Like a bulemic will binge driving to different fast food stands, making unbidden claims about the family at home, the kids off of soccer practice, or what have you. I don't know that they do it. I just saw it once in a Health Education video. But so I go back and forth to different places, varying nights because they know I'm there just to sit and waste their time. I made three hours the other night - technically, you're not supposed to be able to do that.

"Whenever I go out, I get that hazy kind of guilty feeling, that I don't have the right to the expense, that there are non-recreational things I should be up to. It's not like even any exercise involved. Just various ways of sitting on my ass. I can see myself kind of gurgling and expanding, all white and flaccid and undefined. Just nothing better to do. Nothing to engage myself.

"The worst is probably that this could be useful, you know? I could be accomplishing or figuring out or whatever I imagine like your any given twenty-something with a service industry job and a moldy little sublet occupies themselves with. But I haven't got it. I think I'm not a self-directed personality. That's what I think. More kind of a sleepwalker. Or just unreasonable, maybe. Just not capable of doing anything until I lose the opportunity. Obsessed with tragedy, maybe. Making mistakes only to bemoan them.

"It's just all so disgusting, unbelievably just icky and discomfitting, like this constant nagging, this pressure like I have to do something now or else not be able to. Like I'm running the wrong way. It's like that. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Not running back for something I forgot. Just being perverse. Stupid."