"Yeah, thanks for the update, Mr. Blackwell."
She put her hand on my forehead. "You aren't warm... are you sleeping enough?"
I nodded. "At least three hours a day. Sometimes, four. Usually, in a row."
She frowned. "You're wearing yourself down, you know."
"I know. It's my plan. I figure that once I completely lose my mind, they can put me in a nice home someplace and I can play basketball with a big Indian."
"Don't correct me when I'm referencing American literary classics."
She folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. "That's not much of a plan, going insane and being locked up."
"Well," I said, "it's the best I've got so far. I've had to discount the suicide plans, because all the good ones are too elaborate and require too much effort. I'm much too lazy to kill myself. Good suicides aren't usually spontaneous."
"So I don't have to worry about you taking a header off the roof?"
I shook my head. "Hurt too much. In addition to being too lazy to kill myself, I'm also a coward. So you don't need to worry about me there."
"Good," she said. "I plan on keeping you around for a long time to come."
"Just be sure to visit me in the nuthouse, Muse. Smuggle me in some smokes. I hear you can buy yourself extra Thorazine if you've got enough butts."