The Mind of a Lizard

I ythink thinas is aone of htiose times where ai"ll hate myself ni the wmonrining mornni morning.

B Ut it fesle so good rgiht now.

Rochelle got me my own bucket.  I suppose I should feel either insulted or flattered.

At the moment, I don't feel like much except for ridiculously horrid.

The couch-bribery is nonsense.  I'm sleeping staying in the bathroom.  I am not letting go of this toilet.

I hate throwing up.

It's only going to get worse from here.

I think ai talked AZch into getting somethg erapy.  Ti's good, because he obviously aneeds it.

Fucking jhyelloman without any wsort of hobbiaes other than bodystnatching.  Iah don't think I'mll be ablety to get to sCtoland like this.  It's far away and I don'can'treach the phone because it's altl the wayt over therER.  So afr.  Far.  Threet talbes.

I dont'a want t o go tomorwo.  If teel bad about whtaw I saittd to Jaenny though.

What.

What just happened?

I go to see Roger a few blocks down and I run into Jenny, who somehow -

It makes no sense.  No.  Bloody.  Sense.

She's going to try to make me detox without hibernating.  I think it's a ridiculous idea.  Though a couch is certainly more comfortable than a parking garage, going through withdrawal while sleeping is infinitely better than doing it awake.  God.  I remember the last time.  I wanted to die.  Josephine will probably be just giddy about it.  Zach probably won't care either way.  Well.  No.  It means my leftovers go to him.  Lucky bastard.

She said she's going to pick me up tomorrow.  I want to go back to Scotland.  I want to not be dependent on illegal substances.  I really want to go back to Scotland.

Either way, I suppose I should pack a bag.

Zachery was engaged to some girl named Kingsley.  Who knew?  The name sounds familiar.

He lost his host body when someone did unspeakable things to his private areas.  It sounded incredibly painful, and I have no idea why he'd even bother to stick around with people who might do that sort of thing to him.  He'd better not have gotten his goo on my carpet.

Jo and I had a bit of a spat some days ago.  I think it ended well.

I went down to the tunnels this morning to look for Zachery.  I found him, too - and witnessed a bit of minor violence against him by a pregnant woman.  It was bizarre.  I think he's going to be staying with me for a while, and I've offered to fund a few improvements for the Morlock den.

As always, to celebrate being alive we're going for a drink.  Irish coffee this time.

This is all so strange.

Hah.

Met Miller in the park.  Talked for a while.  Figured out that hating each other is stupid when we can't remember why we hate each other.  The poor bastard's homeless, but he's got a willing host.  Which is weird.  Shared some Valium with him.  He's really not such a bad guy, and I think he agreed not to try to take over my body again.

We're going for a drink.

Jo takes Valium.  She claims it's for insomnia, and that she 'doesn't have a problem'.  Gee, that sounds awfully familiar.  Still, though, the stuff did help me get to sleep.  It's better than nothing.  She said that there should be a delivery of factor here by seven in the morning, which will make things much less tense.  It's... actually quite scary to not have any of it on hand.  I've always been so careful about having a good supply available.  What if I fall?  What if something hits me?  Ugh.  I think I'm going to try to hibernate straight through the next week or so.  Woe betide anyone who wakes me up.

I binned my last journal somewhere along the way to Scotland.  I picked this one up in the airport; I'll eventually replace it with something nicer, I think.  This one has horrid paper quality.

Loch Lomond was wonderful.  Ten months of doing absolutely nothing but whatever came to mind - it was something I needed.  I'm still not so certain that I'm ready to deal with the fact that Hope didn't work for me.  I can't even really remember leaving my apartment.  The apartment itself isn't the same, but Josephine or someone else has done a decent job of trying to make it appear untouched anyway.  Max is fine, which is good.  I don't think that father will ever forgive me for running off like I did.

Josephine had some idiot private investigator track me down.  The flight back was absolutely horrid, and the man who fetched me from Loch Lomond was an absolute tit.  Boring, smelly Americans have no place invading my home.  Jo and I will eventually need to have a bit of a talk about that.  She's agreed to not bother me about shuttling back and forth between New York and Loch Lomond as long as I don't outright disappear again.  I missed her.

I need something to take the edge off.

Fucking joint bleeds.

Fucking jet lag.

Name:  David “D.B.” Darby Brooks III (Deathbreath)

Race:  Male Mutant

Age:  31

Birthday:  April 1, 1976 (Aries, year of the Dragon)

Sex:  Male

Class:  Alpha Mutant

Alignment:  Selfish Neutral