Seven thirty. The coat hanger in the trailer broke when I got home from the store. It was plastic and couldn’t hold up to three garments hung on it. But I’d known that I wouldn’t get the deposit back on the rental. Aesop is ready for a nap. It’s odd to recall how selfish the family thought I was. I was an intelligent only child, or raised like one. I was called a snob because I wore glasses and did a lot of reading. Now I think the schizophrenia was just a genetic fluke that could happen to anybody. There was no moral basis to it. To hell with therapists and their crap. Have mercy with your pseudoscience. Alcoholism is likewise hereditary and not a moral issue. I get so tired of defending myself against a moral majority that doesn’t understand human biology. I don’t know if there is overlap between biology and phenomenology, but I doubt that there is. A conscience is a sensitive thing, so don’t overtax it with false accusations. Shut the fuck up and I’ll take the goddamn medication and stay away from the booze. But I don’t do it for you or because you told me to. Fuck off!