melatonin

A sloitary man stands before a crowd. Methodicaly, he places a record on a phonograph and plays the national anthem. Dramatically, he begins his speech on various patriotic things. The faceless crowd is unresponsive. He picks up the pace, talking and perspiring fevorishly. The cold, gray crowd still fails to react. His life worn face reddens and quivers, but still the only thing he hears is his own voice echoing off the back of people's heads. In a fit of confused despiration he slams his head into the ground, so hard that the pavement cracks almost as much as his face. Sparse, nervous clapping can be heard as the crowd dissipates. It

diluted Over the last  month I've slowly begun to realize that I have  more memories of things than I've actually lived through. I'm  finding it much harder to distinguish between spasms of fantasy  and actual happenings. Items of importance continually slip  from my mind while I'm consumed by tedious details. I've  developed the awful habit of reliving conversations of the day  in my head, going over what was said and scrutinizing my every  word, all the way to point where I've changed it around in my  head so much that I can no longer remember what had actually  been said. Lately I've caught myself playing back these