This is Rare
<< 12:43 p.m. - Friday, Nov. 05, 2004 >>
I don�t know where I am these days. Reading Requiem for a Dream makes me feel even more like an automaton. Even more swallowed by addictions I can�t even see. Things I beg to ignore. I guess this is what happens when you spend a lot more time with yourself than you have in a year. Read. Make to-do lists and check things off. Bicycle aimlessly. Move money around. Homework. Think. Think. Think. I�m not unhappy. I guess I�ve just adjusted to this life, and now have turned around and seen it for what it is. Empty.

I am trying to be adult.
And it sucks.

I got the job and all. I�m gonna work at Fred Meyers. But freakin� woohoo! If this is the kind of thing I get excited about, then everything is just messed.

I wish for high school but only in the way that we had forced contact. Seeing my friends everyday and whatnot. Now I only see Mark�s brother everyday. Which is fine, but, I miss the familiarity of old friends. I can�t really even begin, because I don�t know what is happening. Nothing feels quite solid enough. Not quite right. Home is only a word these days.