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He says I listen to my friends too much. They're not even real he says. They are code encrypted in a web page. Zeros and ones. Colors and pixels. But the represent real people, not something I made up in my head. You're only as real as I allow you to be.

Things were really quiet for most of the day, after I said that.

Dr. Rosario says I should go to my priest, Msgr. Ryan, back at Saint Luke's. He baptized me when I was a kid, and Dr. Rosario says it might be a good idea if I went back to pray. She says it might provide a different form of therapy. I wonder who the patron saint of mental illness is? That's something I have to look up.

I prayed to Saint Blaise today, though. I had a store throat and Saint Blaise is the Patron Saint of the Throat and Mouth. Those fools at The Vatican really need to get real lives and real jobs. I mean, come on. The Patron Saint of the Throat and Mouth? What's next? When I die, I want to be cannonized as the Patron Saint of Useless s**t. Any stupid ailment, from an ingrown toenail to an overabundance of earwax will do. People will come to me and pray to me to heal them. Then, I will send my spirit out to slap them all and tell them to stop whining. Aramis Allegiere, Patron Saint of Useless s**t. That has a nice ring to it.