Diary of a Madman

You should get out of your blankets.
You should kill yourself.
You should stretch.
You should do twenty pushups.
You should kill yourself.
You should brush your teeth.
You should take a shower.
You should kill yourself.
You should boil some noodles.
You should eat them.
You should get dressed.
You should kill yourself.
You should go to work.
You should work hard.
You should have two cups of coffee.
You should tell the gorgeous woman at work how you feel.
You should remember she has a boyfriend.
You should work hard.
You should clock out.
You should walk past the bar.
You should brush your teeth.
You should take your clothes off and lay down.
You should kill yourself.
You should kill yourself.
You should go to sleep.
You should do this all again tomorrow.

It is not like hearing voices, because it is only my voice. The same voice that tells me that I hate Wuthering Heights, the same voice that says “Damn that ass is fat!”, the same voice that I use to quote Cicero or Gogol and to talk to my mother and to say hello to dogs or newborn babies. I no longer believe anything I tell myself. I have proved many times that I should not be trusted. I wish I would stop talking.