nothing seems suitable, i am not interested in anything at all.
for a long time i thought i would be A Writer, but aside from what i have written here in the last two years, i have written nothing at all. i was (am?) quite good- i included it in my Identity- and now that i am without it, i struggle to understand where it has gone.
i am in a phase again. i don't know what it's about, or how i came into it. i feel as if i have so much to do that i will never be done. daily the list grows and i accomplish so little. i am overwhelmed by guilt when i am sitting on my couch. i make lists, as if that will help me to control what there is to do, but there is just so much and no time and no money.
i am tired, and yet i struggle to sleep.
in a month i should be able to walk normally, without the boot. in a month i should be able to have my debut, and yet i think i may have lost my nerve. the other night i was out at a bar and found myself quite sensitive to the stares of others. don't look at me, please. your eyes burn mine.
this is my first week alone in my apartment. i feel pressure to feel something about it. i'm worried that i will spend the entire weekend inside without speaking to anyone.
i need to lose ten pounds. i need to stop worrying about ten pounds.
julius is sick again. nimoy's ear is red. tonight i will begin another course of antibiotics and hope it's enough to keep them out of the vet's office until i get paid.
i want a bicycle. i think that riding the boardwalk might clear me out some, might put me back inside my body instead of my mind.