I Dont Do Too Well On My Own

The Twenty-Eighth Chapter

When youre stuck in hospital, you are bored.

Now, thats an understatement. After a while the bleached walls and linoleum floors become repetitive. The food becomes soft and watered down, like it has been pulverised. After a while you are what you eat.

Theres a constant flow of visitors in the forms of Patrick, Pete, Joe and Andy. But because they actually have lives, they cannot stay for long periods of time. Meanwhile, it seems Ill rot here.

Whats the word for the opposite of glamor?

I drop in and out of consciousness like dipping into water. It seems pretty grim right now.

Who said things dont get better?

The door opens and Pete enters with his notepad. He nods his head to me and sits down.

"So, its just me today. The doctor said you drink too much and your livers fucked up." He reminds me, just so I know.

Getting information about myself through third parties.

"But, I was thinking, as you have... Experience in the horrors of life... You could help me with writing."

He holds up the notepad sheepishly.

Do I know about the horrors of life? I certainly have some experience, but its just the tip.

"Okay." I say, propping myself up on my elbow.

The wire in my arm keeps me from running to far.

"But you know I know squat about writing songs."

"I assure you, you know more than I do." Pete laughs.

By the time the clock has moved an hour, we have a list of one liners that would make you sweat with anticipation.

"Now this, this is golden. I smell something cooking." Pete grins at his page.

"Just filter out the bad stuff and come back to me." I say.

"Ill start piecing it together, you should go to sleep."

When ever I sleep I have to turn on the heart machine beside me. Incase I die. Hospitals are positive, arent they?

I normally leave it on because I have nothing to count as I fall asleep. The monotonous and constant sound of my own heart lulls me into a comatose state.

I get dropped into the murky darkness of my nightmares. You can hear the increased panic of the heart-rate monitor.

It doesnt matter what my nightmare was, it never does. What matters is that people can see what youre thinking by the speed of your heart. Thats scary in itself.

When I wake I dont have the luxury of shooting up to sitting as Im practically tied down by wires.

"Youre heart monitor was racing faster than a horse at Ascot." Pete says wide eyed.

"Just another one of those nights." I say vaguely.

We both look out the window, its bright daylight.

"So, what have you got?"

"First, Ive got some drugs. Then I have, what I think is, a start of a song." Pete says, raising his eyebrows.

I swallow the pills one by one.

"Here today we have the finest selection of gourmet pills." Pete says in a TV advert voice. "Each carefully selected for your delight. Enjoy each one and tell us, how do they taste?"

He holds the fake microphone of a pen at me.

"They taste..." I say, popping another in my mouth. "They taste like shit."

"Ah, thats just as I thought. More from Jesse later. Now, for the weather."

I cant help but smile at Pete joking in the dire situation.

He passes over the notepad. It looks like a train wreck, lyrics scrawled around the page, crossings out left and right. It looks a bit like my life.

I peer at some of the lyrics scrawled.

The first few lines are:

Im sleeping my way out of this one,

With anyone who will lie down.

Further down the page theres something labeled 'chorus'.

Under the 'chorus' it says:

Im not going home alone,

Because I dont do too well on my own.

Then theres a few more separate lines and it says:

I keep telling myself, I keep telling myself,

Im not the desperate type,

But youve got me thinking it.

Up the side, scaling the margin are the words:

I keep myself fixated on one star,

As the world comes crashing down.

To complete the mess, upside down, hanging from the top of the page is:

The only thing worse than not knowing,

Is telling yourself 'I dont know'.

"You know what this is missing?" I say.

Pete looks concerned and confused.

"Its missing a yodelling part." I say decisively.

Pete bursts out laughing at the prospect. I cant help but join in. My face hurts from the energy I have to use to laugh.

"A yodelling part?" Pete splutters.

"Yes. And banjos. Many banjos." I add, as straight faced as I can manage.

"Fall Out Boy is going in a new direction!"

(A/N this chapter took me so long. Probably because I put so much into it. Enjoy and dont forget to drop a comment.)