Placebo JunkiesBook - 2016
New York : 2016. Ember,
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We all have our fantasy lives, don't we? There's a fine line between delusional and ambitious, it occurs to me. We're all just hoping for a better reality.
I'm not ready for any more reality at the moment. I'm already at a toxic saturation level; I'm this close to overdosing on the truth.
The only certainty of being truly alone with your thoughts is that whatever you're thinking is probably wrong.
I sort of like the idea of someone keeping a dossier on me. It's like outsourcing your own diary. Let someone else do the writing while I focus on the living. Genius, right?
My midnight bravado fades a bit in the morning. Isn't that just how it goes? Moon swagger: everyone's a badass in the right light. Today I'm not so sure I want to do anything more physically or emotionally taxing than ordering takeout.
No cutting in line! The order of things matters a great deal in the testing world, so queue up accordingly. The first tests are done on animals, of course--monkeys and rabbits and rats, oh my. If enough fuzzy-wuzzy bunnies make it through round one alive and kicking, the grim reapers of research move on, setting their sights on the junkies, the indigents, and the professional guinea pigs for round two. (Ahem. This is where we come in.) Next come the college students. Then come the ailing minimum-wagers--legit sick people whose crappy, barely-there health plans and stretched-to-broke budgets don't have room for things like "proven" cures. Only then, at long, long last and hopefully not too many oopsies later, will anything ever be tried on the upstanding citizens from Planet Properly insured. Everyone eventually gets their turn, as long as they're not dying of impatience (see what I did there?).
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