CHAPTER NINETEEN
NOVEMBER 26, 1960
When I got up today, I felt as if Ward Bond and his whole damn Wagon Train had trampled me in my sleep, so I broke down and called the doctor. I expected him to give me the big lecture about not showing up for appointments, but he was very pleasant, the way folks are when they speak to dangerous mental patients. I got a laugh out of it.
He seemed to understand when I told him those pills that are supposed to keep me as cheerful as a village i***t are actually depressing the hell out of me. They make my tongue flap until my mouth gets dry and my lips cling to my teeth tighter than a cat stuck to a screen. My hands shake, and I can’t sleep. I have no appetite, so my clothes are hanging off me like Spanish moss. The pills I take to go to sleep make me dre
