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Now you may be wondering, who was wearing the bolo tie? Me or the shark? Answer: YES!
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Nick was in a very sour mood. He could deal with it. He was no stranger to moods like that. What did get to him, however, was the alarming strength and unnerving alacrity of its arrival, not to mention the impeccably bad timing. And the part where he had, in fact, seen it coming and was unable to head it off.

I should talk to a doctor about that. Oh, silly me, I already have!

Everything about the situation grated on his nerves. Not, he thought bitterly, that it would be his biggest trial on the island. Far from it, once people started crying and dying and killing and rapingand pillaging and joining groups and leaving groups and clung to dying breaths with the stupidity and stubbornness of the human raceand shot and stabbed and tore at others with the stupidity and selfishness of the human race and everyone's life became a soap opera because they couldn't just die and get on with it and once his life turned into a soap opera because he couldn't just die and get on with it and nobody wanted to die and nobody wanted anyone else to die but they all wanted to win so so badly just so they could get on with their stupid useless human lives and scream and cry at night when they got home because it was all too much and didn't they realize that things could never be the same, and that nobody could ever be normal again and it would be just doctor visits and psychiatrists and "How are you doing?" "Life sucks" "I know, where's my $150 an hour" and Nick had had enough of that already because his life sucked and it wasn't fair but it never was so he couldn't complain because complaining did nobody any good and nothing had ever done him any good but that's how life was when you knew what you were and who you were and ignorance was bliss and

"No," he spat pointedly at Alex, "I don't suppose things could get much worse here. Not unless you -"
Bad move. Keep cool.
"Nevermind." He did a quick survey of the forest floor and sat rather more heavily than he had intended onto a stump. It hurt, but not enough to distract him from his already-aching back and arms. The new lance of pain did, however, distract him from his thoughts. That was somewhat of a relief, except...

"Well, don't just do something, stand there! Come closer if you wanna talk to us, since I suppose you're gonna speak softly with that big old stick there."

And then he was silent, fuming at himself on the inside. He hated when this happened, because it took so much effort to avoid rubbing people the wrong way, something he was so good at in the first place, and he had just failed miserably at averting it. Again. He cursed them inwardly in spite of himself, the useless junkies. Which reminded him...

Nick looked sharply over at his bag, as if literally stung by the thought. He stretched his arm out to touch it. Pulling it towards him in a more sedate manner, he began sifting idly through it, until at last his fingers closed around the little orange bottle he was seeking. He worked the cap off and tipped a large, cream puck of a pill into his hand.

"Bupropion, 'hundred fifty mils. Cheers."

And he tossed it back without any water.




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Waking Up is Hard to do · The Woods: Inland