God I hate this fucking place and it's Monday.

The room has the smell of gym shoes, goats and a hint of after shave. It's enough to make you want to puke or call your Grandfather.

Painfully bright white walls let in far to much sunlight through the tiny window. It's like it magnifies and reflects it everywhere. Would some damn art kill these people?

Probably.

I started my own art yesterday in the corner. I bribed one of the nurse guys with a blow job and got myself a few sharpies. At least the power of lust is still the same even in here.

I despise Mondays too. Almost as much as this place.

It's the worst day of the week. I'm sure no one would argue with me on that.

After the wonderful, orgasmic three day break from work or school you're suddenly shoved back into that heaving, moaning whore known as daily life.

Most of the time your brain cannot handle it and decides to turn into a great pile of mush that resembles Haggis.

Then that great pile of Haggis mush slowly turns into a pond of rotting sludge that sucks every living thing into it's bottomless pit of depression. Colours spawn into annoying bursts of flowers and Circus dancer that seem to be eternally damned to fly around your brain.

If you've ever sat in a tiny, grey cubical watching your life tick away with the second hand of the clock at the end of the hall, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

It's Hell.

Not that I have to worry about Hell at the moment because I seem to be stuck in permanent Purgatory.

A Purgatory with a lumpy twin bed and a night table that thumps against the wall every time you move. If they expect this place to soothe my nerves and help me out, they're the ones who are fucked in the head.

If anything this place is going to give me a full on mental breakdown.

Which is probably what they're trying for. Hell, they'll just get to keep me here longer and make more money while they're at it.

Oh, I forgot to mention didn't I, where I am.

For that matter I've not even told you my name yet.

I'm Margy Voltaire, currently stuck in room 113 at Larson's Home for the Mentally Disturbed and someone better give me my goddamn pants back soon.