You can consider this a promise: once they start manufacturing bioengineered genitals that you can buy in a box at the grocery store, I’m out of here

I am so paranoid that someone is going to murder me because I’m having fun right now

Whoa! Maybe I’m serious

I like to have a sense of humor about my failures. It’s a good time. I’m not even being sarcastic!

God, I’m awake at 3:40 A.M., my bloodstream loaded with caffeine, and all I can do is laugh at the terrible son of a bitch that I am.

In ten days I will be a twenty-six-year-old version of the same rotted-out animal carcass that I’ve always been

(When will this animal go ahead and decay already???)

Charlie Brown is a cool dude

If Charlie Brown were real I would be his friend

I like people like Charlie Brown

Where are they

I know of only three truths: 1) I like my cat (he is cool), 2) Blade Runner is my favorite movie, 3) I’m going to die.

I took these pictures a few weeks after I moved to California~~

Why was I cleaning out the creepy little closet in the bathroom at 3 A.M.? I don’t know. I guess I wanted something to do with myself so I wouldn’t be sitting at my desk anymore. I had been sitting there for about twelve hours doing hardly anything at all except feeling like a garbage bag full of dead earthworms.

In a box near the back I found a little notebook. I flipped through it and groaned. Inside were a bunch of dumb drawings and to-do lists and half-formed notes I had written a year or so after high school. Then I found this sketch of me that someone had done long ago. I thought for a minute and decided that this person is the only thing, inanimate or otherwise, that I miss anymore. I don’t miss anything else.

She was a good one. If I thought about her long enough I might crack.

Hey, lady. Are you alive? I’ll tell you what, I miss you a lot. Thanks for being so nice to me.

I have been sleeping on the rug in my room because my mattress is destroying my back. I’m not sure why exactly. Maybe because my weight makes the mattress sag to the floor, and my spine is dragged along with it.

When Tim was out of town I slept at his house a few times. It was so nice—sleeping in a bed. And waking up and being alone. I liked that a whole lot. I had forgotten how much I missed being in a completely silent place.

When I wanted to see people, I saw them. When I didn’t, I went to Tim’s and watched movies. Mostly I just did that.

Recently I have thought that I should get out of my house and move somewhere else. I like the people I live with, but I can’t get anything done here. And what I need to do is finish all this stuff I’ve been trying to write since September. And that god damn book. When people are constantly knocking on my door or just plain hanging out in my room when I get home from work, I start to wish that Tim was still out of town so I could go sit cross-legged on his couch and work on some stuff while a movie plays muted on an enormous television fifteen feet away from me.

I am time-eaten and world-rotten. I don’t see age but I can feel it. What I see also is a pattern of not doing the few completely meaningless things I want to do. And mostly what I want to do is be alone so I can read books and write stupid stuff and hang out with some movies while my cat sleeps on my lap. A lot of my time is spent working on things that I absolutely despise for other people. I don’t want to do this anymore.

Man, can’t I just live alone until the Grim Reaper comes and takes me to that dark place? That would be cool as hell.

I don’t know what this means: last night I was sitting at my desk listening to the Vince Guaraldi Trio’s A Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack—mostly because it’s a nice, easy time, whether it’s Christmas or not—and when I got to “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” I felt pretty good. It was a clump-in-the-back-of-your-throat sort of feeling. It surprised me a whole lot.

It reminded me of Christmas at my grandmother’s house, when it was late and I was alone and the only lights on were the ones wrapped around the wooden fence on the porch. I would sit there on the couch and just stare at the things and didn’t have to think about anything and no one bothered me. I guess that’s when I still had any reverence for the day—back before it was destroyed by this god damn stupid world.

Weird. What do I do with this information? I haven’t the slightest idea. Maybe I’ll just hang out with it for a while until it disappears.