Slipping and a sliding

I think I'd better call the doctor tomorrow and ask to be put back on zoloft.
My anxiety levels have been high at night for the last week, and tonight they have been exceptionally high, high to the point where I have been yelling at the little guy inside the computer, you know the little bastard I mean, don't you, yeah, the one who likes to fuck with your mind, oh yeah, but I'm not going to let the cocksucker get to me, and my apologies to any of you out there who might be cocksuckers, I mean no disrespect, and would cocksuckers be plural, or possessive, or plural possessive, see I can't even conjugate or whateverthat-gate is that deals with grammatical possessiveness.
So anyway, I'm going to call the doctor tomorrow and tell him to slip me some Z.
I mean, it was a noble experiment, trying to get off of it, but I'm feeling this tightness in my throat, and that's the first sign, the tightness, and I don't even want to think about the second, third, fourth, and fifth signs.
So, bright and early tomorrow morning I'm going to call Dr. Bobby Hill, not his real name, it's an inside joke, but yeah, tomorrow morning, I'm going to call him, and hopefully by tomorrow night Ziggy Stardust will be coursing through my bloodstream once again.