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There's a bad bone inside of me.
Sometimes, all he wants to do is run away.
Not to the dinosaurs; he'd gotten that out of his system the first time around. But away in the sense of going somewhere, not talking to anyone or thinking about anything, pretending that he's the only one on the whole damn island, existing in a little pocket of space and time where nothing matters.
He always comes out of it. But he's been needing it more lately. And he's been using chemical aids to get there more lately, too, which he's concerned about in a kind of vague way. He's never exactly had an addictive personality, but he's probably self-medicating, he thinks on some level, and that's not good. He likes to think that he's above that.
Though he supposes that the message of the whole long mess that his life has been, if there is one, is that no one is ever above anything.
He leans back against the tree and takes another hit off the joint in his fingers, which is courtesy of Lennox, whose previous occupation is coming in handy now.
He should stop. He should talk to him. He should get over it. Maybe he should have declined the Council nomination. There are a lot of things he should do.
He's never been very good at doing the things he should do. There's no real reason for it. It just is.
He blows smoke at the sky, in an aggressively lazy sort of way.
Fuck it.
Not to the dinosaurs; he'd gotten that out of his system the first time around. But away in the sense of going somewhere, not talking to anyone or thinking about anything, pretending that he's the only one on the whole damn island, existing in a little pocket of space and time where nothing matters.
He always comes out of it. But he's been needing it more lately. And he's been using chemical aids to get there more lately, too, which he's concerned about in a kind of vague way. He's never exactly had an addictive personality, but he's probably self-medicating, he thinks on some level, and that's not good. He likes to think that he's above that.
Though he supposes that the message of the whole long mess that his life has been, if there is one, is that no one is ever above anything.
He leans back against the tree and takes another hit off the joint in his fingers, which is courtesy of Lennox, whose previous occupation is coming in handy now.
He should stop. He should talk to him. He should get over it. Maybe he should have declined the Council nomination. There are a lot of things he should do.
He's never been very good at doing the things he should do. There's no real reason for it. It just is.
He blows smoke at the sky, in an aggressively lazy sort of way.
Fuck it.