I realize how irritated I am by everything. By the white ceiling, the soft orange walls reminding how it feels to peel an orange, but now I want to tear them apart, to rip them, understanding a heroine in a classic novel.
I should bite them off with my bones, stretch out and soak with a knife.
I get irritated by the nurse.
I keep writing that I want to go home, page after page, as I show it to my crying parents.
They thing is I know that I won’t go home.
Day Twenty One