Day I Lost Count Months Ago: Saturday
12:30pm: Have renewed confidence in using facilities in own home. Feeling good about self and life.
12:32pm: Use facilities. Hear hissing noise. Assaulted by familiar "clean linen" scent. Gag. Cough. Experience flashback, making ordeal twice as bad as usual. Finish quickly, holding breath. Exit bathroom, breathe. Gag. Resolve to figure out mystery.
12:34pm: Suspicions confirmed: mother has replaced cartridge. (Foiled by own parent?) Feel self-esteem plummet. Question motives. "It's my house" found to be airtight. Walk away with head hung low; lungs itchy. Eyeball tiny air-not-refreshing box--it will know who is in charge this time. (Hint: Not malevolent demon.)
Day After That: Sunday
11:20pm: Have not been in bathroom once all day without setting off fresh wave of chemical blight. Am weary. Wonder if poisonous jack-in-the-box has Gremlin-like and/or Wicked Witch-like qualities; consider dousing with water. Think better of this.
11:47pm: Creep into bathroom. Brush teeth. Exit bathroom. Hear ominous hissing. TOO LATE, BOX. HAVE WON THIS ROUND. Small victory, but important one.