There was no mushroom cloud. There was no explosion, no incineration, no shockwave. It was a slow dissolution, quiet wasting - sugar in the rain. It was the unavoidable realization that I no longer recognized my face, my thoughts, my voice. I couldn't remember when this became my life, and it frightened me. And the line between my days and dreams grew thinner and thinner, as my thoughts became more convoluted and cancerous. And now we have poisonous volcanic rain, days that end badly, failure after failure, holey t-shirts, the end of a world filled with exams, drunk weekends, mean teachers, cafeteria food and semester grades. And all I want to do is curl under my blanket and watch that 44th episode of "In Treatment" and eat doritos. I don't know when that sad little half-life became so appealing. I also don't know when I became such a sad little half-person.
