suffocation

public domain, notes, midnight attempts at breathing simply all fail horizontally so vertically the chair offers something more, at least for the moment. classical music plays. I am wheezing next to the window without medication, bothering myself. my cat also has not fallen asleep. notes on work: the guys, the managers there are incredibly sports obsessed – vomit is in the air. the stupidity is so thick in the air it’s like I float in to the time clock on a hearse. I pull out my book “the Gambler” progressively making my way to the end, loving every sentence of it (I’m up to the last chapter). Dostoevsky is a real writer, he had a real intellect. I write of my own life too, but of course it’s not the same. angrily, I write about how it’s a struggle for me to breathe, because that is this hour’s most pressing engagement. in the day I struggle to tolerate the insolence of the sports announcers, the cruel attitudes they give because they can’t properly do their jobs and screw off the entire time. but enough of that, I have to go downstairs finally and get the asthma tea.