12:27 am.

Tomorrow is a Friday. But it's funny that I write that because the days don't really matter or mean anything anymore. They don't really affect me. I can never remember what context to put that word in. Oh well. Stupid English language. I'm starting to hate the night. We used to get along so well, but now it's such a solitary part of the day. (as in the 24 hour period of time) Maybe I just need to be a little more creative in deciding what to do, seeing as I can't sleep very well anymore. And to think, sleep used to be my haven. It was the only thing that could make me numb and thoughtless. And I could always depend on my dreams being interesting, even the frightening ones. For instance, the one I had were I was in a black room, lying down on a large couch, and watching the scribbles on a TV. There was someone in the background stabbing an anonymous person to death. They stopped the slaughter and leaned over the back of the couch. I looked up. "Now, it's your turn," they said staring down at me, and proceeded to drop the knife. It fell, penetrating my neck. I could feel its pressure and the fear in my mind and the sweat and the tears running down the sides of my face. "I'm going to die no matter what I do," I thought. "I could pull the knife out of my throat and bleed to death, or I could just lie here with it sticking in my neck. Either way I die." And I awoke. I could feel the pressure in my throat and the sweat dripping from my skin. I've never been so scared in my life. It was so vivid and real. "Fall back asleep," I thought to myself. The words echoed in the darkness of the room. "Fall back asleep..."

12:51 am.