I didn’t raise my nose, but I definitely (unintentionally) made a face. What kind of person drinks decaf coffee?

Unfortunately I wrote all of these. And I eventually ended up hanging out with the black-haired lady in the Margot Tenenbaum dress. (She was kind of racist!)

Also the woman who left me candy responded too! I invited her a crappy doom metal show and never heard from her again.

Anyway:

I have no money, no resources, no hopes. I am the happiest man alive.

Yup!

Heck yeah

The last time I was in Los Angeles I went to an event at the convention center to write about it. I ended up getting super depressed and leaving town early. On the drive back I wore shorts. I got sunburn on my left thigh from sitting in the driver’s seat for over four hours. My leg turned red— except where my shorts were.

That sunburn is still faintly visible. That was six months ago.

Here it is, the miserable reality: I am 100% aware how insane I sound all the time

I have no skills that could possibly pay my rent. I’m good at really dumb stuff. I can parallel park and I have nice handwriting. That’s about it.

And then there’s this thing: I can tell when someone is forcing a laugh.

And I can look at someone in the eyes and tell if there’s stuff going on or if their head is full of sawdust.

Today on the train I only saw two people with stuff going on behind their eyes.

I almost typed “I wonder if people can tell that I’m full of sawdust” but really I don’t.

At twenty-six I feel closer to seventy-six.

Nearly every day I’ll watch a movie, sometimes one I used to like a whole bunch, and think, “Well, I’m never watching that again for the rest of my life.”

I always feel like I’m saying good-bye to everyone, like I won’t see them anymore.

On the train back from San Francisco today I saw my reflection in the window and I looked so tired and so broken down. My face is gaunt and I have lines under my eyes.

I am insufferably negative in public. I can’t help feeling so bad about what all of this is now. I can’t help feeling backed into a corner. This world definitely wants me to shut up and go away or die.

At work a few days ago I was severely sleep deprived and I kept thinking I heard my name at the end of every sentence a stranger spoke to me. “Can we sit at this table, Ryan?” “We’d like to order now, Ryan.” Of course they weren’t saying my name. Why did I hear that?

My friend Megan is going back to North Carolina. She invited me to a bar tonight. It took me fifteen minutes to walk there. I was in the bar for five minutes when the owner told me I would need to buy a drink or leave. I left. I didn’t say good-bye. I was creeped out and sad.

I told Laura and McCune on the way back that I’ve been sad and alone too long now, and that it had probably done a lot of damage to me that I can’t repair.

Sometimes at night I will think of someone and then tell them about it and most of the time they don’t say anything back. That’s OK. It’s just something I’ve noticed. It’s probably annoying that I do that.

There is no place to go back to.

There is no one waiting for me anywhere else.

Talk about a genuine expression