When I really, really, really get into a song I play it on a loop. Over and over till the grooves and rhythms are embedded deep within my cortex, never forgotten.

I brought on my cramps and I brought on the rain and who knows what else I have brought towards me with my super negative force activated. I feel like the anti-hero today. I'm in a fucking sluuuuuuuumppppppp. Slump schlump schlumped. I can't get anything done, I'm shit shit shit at work, have zero motivation or inclination, it's an abomination.

I'm back at not knowing what the fuck to do with myself, with my life; I don't know in what direction I am going, I get frustrated with myself and hate everything that much more.

Found myself rolling a joint on my passport application. The irony was not lost on me.

I somehow became entangled with old boots the booty call. We tangled and then he fucked me over and now I am on the fence about him. I won't lie and say he didn't screw me over big time, but I balance it out thinking/hoping/believing that there was something real that I saw briefly in him.

There was a moment the other day when he was cooking in my kitchen by the light of a candle and for a brief millisecond I could truly see what we could be and it was beautiful. It was cozy, and comforting, and creative and wonderful. In a millisecond. It gave me hope and sparked that stupid, idiotic warm feeling and I didn't smush it, squeeze it, blow the damn thing out in time and now I'm fucked writing depressing entries trying to exorcise the PITY ME demons crying weepily in a corner of my (insert where you believe the soul resides here).

Been listening to depressing indie dance pop and smoking Rastafarian approved blunts. I'm a real joy to be around. I've had a couple of really depressing days, even though I've been surrounded by friends, partying my ass off. Sad partying, masked partying, pretending. I passed out on the toilet bowl after puking my very guts out at a friend's party. Was woken up to loud knocking and questioning, who is in there? hello?

Yeah, I don't have a drinking problem. It was called to my attention with a very pointedly directed-at-me statement: She doesn't know how to not party hard. I'm very good at it. Too good at it you might say. I spend a lot of money going out and getting my drunk on. I spend a lot of money on clothes, on eating out. My savings, what savings? I need to a)marry a rich stupid asshole who will drive me to popping pills b)work hard (yawn) c)make it as a creative uh, artist (i.e., one of the following: painter, actress, singer, writer, even a stupid fucking blogger) d)be a slacker forevs and not be a materialistic bitch e)seriously go off the rails and become a budhist monk.

I hate all of those options.