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Monday - 11:43 p.m.

The cut on my right hand is almost completely healed.

However, it has left a scar on my palm that makes it look as if I have been given one fifth of the Stigmata. I don’t know if I should think that’s cool, or be scared to death about it.

My neighbor's dogs began barking about an hour ago. Beforehand, there was a loud fit of maniacal laughter in the hallway between our apartments, which woke me from the slumber that had been the first real sleep I've had in two weeks. I had fallen asleep in front of the hulking Zenith TV, and when the maniacal laughter began, I rolled off my futon onto the corner of my coffee table.

As a result, my forehead is still bleeding. I have been using paper towels to try to force a clot to form. I have used quite a lot of them and am starting to run low.

The maniacal laughter apparently woke the hell-beasts as well, since they have been barking ever since.

I am feeling light-headed and cannot stop thinking that this is similar to how actor William Holden died. He fell and hit his head on his bedside table, but because he was so stinking drunk, he didn’t realize how badly he had been injured and ended up bleeding to death while dabbing at it with a tissue. My mother named me after him, since he was her favorite actor, although everyone always assumes it’s because of Salinger.

My situation is a little different because unlike when William Holden bled to death, at least I'm wearing pants.

I called Elkie and asked her to come over and help me. I hope she doesn't think I did this to my head on purpose as an excuse just to see her again.

The room is spinning, and I can hear more laughter out in the hall.

Maybe I should take off my pants.

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