Regardless of the convincing, planning, and pep-talks I administer to myself before falling unconscious in the evening, I still cannot claw myself from sleep into the waking world when the sun comes up again. It was around two in the morning when I dropped of, mostly due to a heroic dose of little blue pills consumed only a half an hour before. Slept later than I should and woke with a metallic taste in my mouth, wondering what time is was. I need to somehow reset my circadian rhythms—without the use of chemicals.

I removed my bandages today and results seem promising. All incisions are closed and seem to be healing properly. Unfortunately, I seem to have popped a internal stich or two as I now have somewhat disconcerning pain when I bend in a certian direction. Of course, my doctor would probably say "then don't bend in that direction."

My bedroom is in a horrible state. Books and loose papers have all but completely covered the floor and I have taken to a wide tiptoe method of navigating the small space. The garbage can is slowly overflowing with used bandages. In my more paranoid moments in the early morning I have begun to think that they are fruitful and multiply when I cease to pay attention.

The rain finally let up this evening. The neighbor is playing loud reggae at the moment. It is filtering through the walls into my room; only the bass seems to reach me. It's an interesting feeling, lightly thudding through my damaged insides.