self-analysis is for the birds.
i'm the pill of the century.
things are most level when they're utterly messed up.
and my lungs aren't what they used to me.


Ramble ramble ramble. I feel that's all I ever do anymore. It's just that much easier for me to be completely vague and cryptic than it is to be at all straight forward. But I think that has to do with writing a "blog." It doesn't seem fair or right to be open about your life on a page that's so easily accessible for other people. I don't know. I do know. I do know. Lauren told me that I say, "I don't know," too much, so now I have to say, "I do know," even when I don't have a clue. It's an interesting adjustment. I don't have much to say. I feel very alone at the moment. I feel like I'm alone. That's pretty much all there is to it. I think I have a subconscious fear of loneliness. Or maybe I need other people to distract me from myself, but they don't ever seem to be around when I need them most. I'm actually pretty okay tonight. Pretty okay, my, that makes me sound simple. There have been worse nights. But on this particular one, I feel alone, but I can cope. I think these lonely feelings derive from this realization that I don't really spend my days with anyone. For every hour I'm with someone, there are somewhere between 7 and 9 that I'm alone. It doesn't matter. No one talks anymore. We just smoke at each other. We're talking. We're always talking.

why are you staring into outerspace crying