I picked up this notebook at the Dollar Store down the street. It was the last one. Even had to ask for help in finding it. They cram so much shit in those stores nowadays.
Oh, man. What the hell am I doing? Doc said it might be best to write my thoughts down, a journal, I guess. I told her I wasn’t a preteen girl. What the hell do I have to write about?
Stupid doctor. I wonder what sort of shit she’s heard over her time listening to nut bags like me? How many of them told her they weren’t crazy and then turned around and ate some people or some shit. Crazy things, I’ll bet.
Not me. I’m fine. Just wading time, they say.
Huh. Well.
Alright. Fine. This is the story of the first time God spoke to me.
