i am basically going to be homeless in two weeks.
i feel like doing a ton of coke, then crawling under my covers to wait to overdose.
mmhm, yes.
god damn it, shit, fuck.
i've been trying to be so positive lately, but now i'm just about on the verge of hating everything. ever.
i don't see the point to any of this. this thing called life. it doesn't have a point.
everything is worthless.
i just want to be happy. that is all i've ever wanted.
it seems that's the only thing i can't really have.
i have started typing up my novel. i still have a little more written to type up, but most of it has been typed as of right now.
i did some estimation calculations, and i believe that i have an approximate 30 pages (the kind of pages that would be in your typical fiction book).
it's all located in my writing livejournal. ten entries so far.
geeeeeez.
it's going to be a shocker.
i dont think i can handle change.
but it is inevitable.
i like what i know, and i dont attach easily to that which i do not.
but it is inevitable.
there should be a line drawn between curiosity and applications of oneself, but i am not critical enough on specifications to draw this line. and i would not have anyone else draw it for me.
this works as a metaphor to everything in my world. in my heart and brain.
