Monday, February 24, 2003


I'm tired, so unbearably tired. My eyes are filled with sand. Not soft, southern sand, either; but cold sharp gritty New England sand.
I don't see the point. What is the point? I'm not sure what today is. I don't know how I got here, I only have some vague recollection of sleepwalking through enough of life to get to where I am today. And where is that, exactly? The same unquestionably bland, cardboard reality that it was before I left point A.

My life feels like a kind of dreamless, half-existence punctured by the occasional shot of reality. Is this just how it IS after a time? Am I supposed to feel half-asleep, or is it just a way to mercifully remove myself from this horrid routine of typetypetypetypetype? Am I wrong to want more? To have expected it, even? Was I silly to think that I was somehow destined for greater things than this?

My job now is less compelling than the one I left umpteen years ago to go to college and find a better future. So, almost 2 degrees I am? WTF?

(And it's cold and I hate my hair and I don't like my outfit and I think I've gained 5 pounds and I ate a bagel for breakfast and I have to find notes from Epidemiology for my friend who's taking it this semester (but I got a freaking B so I don't know how helpful they'll be...) and my water tastes sour and I miss my family and I miss my friends and I don't know where any of my stuff IS anymore and I don't want to be here and I don't want to go home and I don't want to go shopping and I don't want to go to the MFA and the week stretches out endlessly and I don't know if I can make it but I have to write a lit review this weekend anyway and I think I'm starting to overuse this writing style....)

Yeah, I'm in a mood, alright. I probably should stop listening to the new Beck CD. I think it's exacerbating things. Shut up, depressed freak!

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