If You Give A Cripple a Cupcake
First you'll start collecting things. But they aren't really things so much as thoughts that spawn from the things. The things you can't have anymore. Bicycles, skateboards, lacrosse sticks, the list of euphemisms for gratuitous amounts of jerking off that you keep in your wallet to keep laughing—they make you think, and God forbid you think when it's all you can do.
Now, once you've collected these items and their corresponding thoughts, you'll burn them, all of them, in the fireplace. And you'll do it on Christmas for irony's sake. And you won't ask for presents this year, though you'll probably receive more. And obviously they'll be pity-presents, like colored crutches and sticky mats and elevators to nowhere. Maybe you'll ask for a sledgehammer to demolish these things along with the other things. After all, these things will make you think, too, and God forbid you think when it's all you can do.
After that you'll make good on the plans you've made. You'll lie more, and about bigger things. You'll make out with Stacy while thinking about making out with Wilson, and you'll make out with Wilson while thinking about making out with Cuddy. You'll do these things when you can't find a hooker. You'll buy a Mogwai, name it after yourself, then feed it after midnight. You'll break your good leg. You'll invent new methods of suicide without actually trying any of them. You'll become someone you hate, but it's okay because you've thought it through. But God forbid you think when it's all you can do.
And finally, after all of this is finished and you're bored again, you'll wonder how this all began, and it'll be the first problem you can't find an answer to. Make that the second problem, because you just couldn't think fast enough. God forbid.
But now, at this very moment, you can be angry. You're alone, and you're gonna stay alone, save for the fucking meta-you that keeps thinking and making plans. This meta-you doesn't understand that it's the only 'you' that exists anymore. Your leg hurts, and why wouldn't it? Today is simultaneously a normal day and the first day of the rest of your life. The meta-you wonders why the fuck 'normal' evens exists if it can change. Yesterday's normal is not today's normal. Yesterday's normal was something you strived for. Today's normal is something you can't recover from.
You read. You doze. Wilson brings you a cupcake and you don't say thank you because you don't have to anymore. You don't eat it. You're cold, but you don't shiver because it hurts to shiver. You don't laugh because it hurts to laugh. You don't cry because it hurts to cry. This is normal.
Suddenly you're bored, and you wonder how this all began, but you can't seem to find an answer.
You want to go home. And you think that's a good sign, because it's the first thing you've ever wanted since becoming normal, but God forbid you think when it's all you can do.