[This is an installation in a series I began in 2017. Each stands alone as its own piece.]
Monologue 1: Housing -- Monologue 2: Green Thumb --
Monologue 3: Secession -- Monologue 4: Thirty More
Listen, I don't mean to be unoriginal, but literally the flames... burning... on the sides, sides of my face... I could dunk my head in a bucket of antidepressants and I wouldn't cool down. It's just a constant pressure -- a vice grip. Yeah, that bitch Eustace - you remember my imaginary bully Eustace - that cunt, just taking my head and slamming it on his work bench and strapping me down and twisting the little spinny thing on the side that tightens the vice grip? Yeah, he's just spinning that bitch hoping my brain just bursts. But it never does. It's resilient, my brain; props to her, I don't know how she does it. Yet she doesn't know how to convey to me... how to help me out of it, how to give Eustace the Jazzy Jeff sendoff after we've left the door unlocked for him to creep in.
I deal with this pressure, though, this burning on a daily basis. And you know, it's not always so bad. Usually I can ignore it until I have to think critically or someone says something that wakes Eustace up. Like, "Your hair looks great today, man." What does it normally look shitty, cause I didn't do anything out of the usual; maybe I actually woke up in time to take a shower that morning? Like, the fuck? Without fail, that mothafucka gets back to stomping on my brain like he's tryna make whine.
[his friend tries to acknowledge the pun, but Thomas pushes on]
So when you say to me, "Thomas, just write the damn novel already?" my mental response to you almost everytime is, "Bitch, how?!" Like, I don't want to be tragic. I don't want to have to get drunk everytime I want to write, high everytime I have to edit myself, but you know what? Sometimes I'm just funnier that way. Sometimes it's easier to drown my oppressor than confront him. If there's money in the budget to find a therapist I can actually relate to instead of some boring old white man, great. Fantastic. I welcome it. Otherwise, you'll get the book when I can find the mental capacity to finish it. OR you can set me free. ...actually, don't do that, I need money. I don't need Eustace calling me a broke bitch, too.
Word
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