(July 27, 2006; this was a half-hour effort, and is just a quickie. I was just amused by the thought.)
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I feel more trepidation than the valium could ever defeat when I knock on his door, but do my best to hide the fact; I know that it's important to look both confident and hopeful in situations like these. Unfortunately, the smile I've plastered across my face is no match for him, and it fades as soon as he greets me.
His eyes are wider than I would have thought possible, and as they twitch, they draw into and fall out of sync with each other; it's as distracting as it is physically implausible. He taps the doorframe with a cheerfully manic rhythm, loudly humming Moist Vagina by Nirvana - the most unhummable song of all time - at about twice its usual tempo. The sound rises and falls out of him in a series of high-pitched, voice-cracking squeals and lilting, monotonous grunts: he is the sonic equivalent of a heart monitor, one that's apparently about to short circuit. I'm briefly torn between amusement and irritation, and when the latter wins, I just can't restrain myself.
"Oh, for fuck's sake. Dammit! Why did you have to do that again? Did you totally forget where you're going? Today's not just another day trip to Disney World, so that huge-pupil shit's not going to fly! Scaring children with FBI surveillance bedtime stories is one thing, but this is just ridiculous."
He looks slightly abashed, scuffing his toe in the dirt at the highly efficient rate of three to four scuffs per second; his foot blurs like a high-speed replay. "Well, listen, I had to get up at 6:30, you know. I had to wash up four times! I need to look ready, I need to prepare myself, I can't let them think I'm bleary and undedicated and weak! Say whatever you want, I know what they're expecting and if I don't provide it, there'll be hell to pay. It's easy for you to avoid their eyes, you're not the one who's crawling in on both knees, gaze cast to the ground, hands pleading and grasping for any chance of redemption or peace or serenity or solemnity or indemnity or -"
I cut him off before he can completely deoxygenate his blood. It's an occupational hazard of sorts: I monitor him for excessive rambling, since he has a tendency to let his words flow as they see fit under these circumstances. "Jon." I sigh, trying not to lose my temper. "You're allowed to be sleepy at amphetamine detox. Trust me, they don't mind..."
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