Fifteen minutes since I swallowed the breakfast pill and I’m still waiting for the comfort of its artificial blanket of docility to envelop me. When it comes, it does a shoddy job. How am I supposed to drift off when my feet are cold?
The drugs want to funnel me down the tunnel to alertness and obedience so I’ll do my job like a good cog. I resist. I need my dose upped but I won’t be eligible for ages. I could plead.
Or I could go with rebellion. Wean myself off. De-cog myself from the machine.
Nobody goes near her. She’s a desert island in a sea of commuters.
I admire her bravery. Standing in Government Square wearing that sign – if she’s not brave, she’s mad.
So it’s not I’m not sympathetic to her cause. I wouldn’t risk watching her otherwise. But while I admire her principles, the ways she behaves scares me. She follows her own mind rather than chemically induced, government-prescribed sedation. Why does she seem so unhappy and so angry?
I inspect the pill I didn’t swallow at breakfast and sigh. I hope for greater resolve at lunchtime. Or tomorrow. Or next week.