“I swear,” I say. “Never.”
I leave the bar a bit stoned and go home. It’s more of the same. I sit on the floor of the living room and feel like weeping. I’m supposed to be looking for a new job. I don’t wish to be a teacher anymore. I think I’ll stab myself, but I don’t have the guts. I turn on the TV and I lie on my back. A spider walks across the ceiling. I am fat. Maybe I should ask Mother to suck my blood so I could become a vampire and live forever. But, no, I look forward to turning forty-five and blowing my head off. No way I’m getting old. Sucking blood is probably a good anti-depressant. I haven’t seen the research on this. I need Jessica.
On TV is a story about a hit-man. Sylvia comes out of her room covered in plastic wrap. She sits on the couch and is shaking. I am suddenly s
