It gets lonely up here. Kind of.
I stopped taking the pills, mostly because I hated how they left me feeling loopy and disoriented. There's still some pain in my knees, but I stretch and limp in a circle to keep moving. I hate sitting in one place, staring. I hate it.
I'm going to lose my fucking mind if I have to just sit here any longer.
Sometimes Dr. Becca keeps me company up here, but she usually just hangs by the windows with a pair of scratched binoculars and a notepad so full of scribbled paper that it's falling apart. I think she likes to study the... infected from a safe distance, but I can't really tell. I hear her mumble names and laugh to herself, but aside from that she hasn't shared anything with me.
The battery life on this laptop is starting to worry me. I don't have an outlet or a generator to leech life from. If I lose this laptop ... I don't know. I'll need to find a journal and let everyone fucking read off that instead. Lord knows these people gossip 95% of the day. Cooped up cramp with a whole lot of people, there's not much to do aside from talk and watch the exits.
Anatole comes around sometimes, when the doc isn't here. He cracks jokes and sometimes waves chocolate candybars in my face. It's annoying, since I fucking hate chocolate, but I appreciate the company. I think he thinks it's his fault I fell. It isn't, and everyone else agrees it isn't, but I'm not gonna keep reminding him otherwise. Let him work that out on his own.
I never did finish that story about what happened. I would now but the doc's on her way back. I can hear her elephant-stomps on the stairs outside. How a woman that small can walk so heavy, I will never understand.