bone digger.

Paul Simon is echoing throughout my ears, and although this is usually my ultimate comfort, I haven't felt this out of place in a long time. Well, maybe that is a bold face lie, because we all know I am hardly ever comfortable. I am drifting, yes, floating along this vast sea, and I will drown soon, I can honestly feel it. I know I am not very poetic, I wish I could come up with beautiful ways to express my inner thoughts, but at the same time, I don't know if I care enough.
Yes, I really am I huge contradiction.

I'm getting thinner! It feels good. But I had breakfast this morning, so I feel really sick. I know you care about me, and you hate that I treat myself this way, but this is something I have to deal with, so stop criticizing me and making me feel bad about it, because it doesn't make me want to change, it makes me want to die even more.

I used to have these intense and colorful dreams of becoming a member of the peace corps. I would get ready and train to be in the most horrible situations and environments, and then I would hop onto my flight and fly halfway across the world. When I would finally make it to the unfortunate area, I would spend months attempting and hopefully succeeding to make it livable and wonderful. Yes, I said wonderful. I would do these things in as many places as I could, and I would travel to the horrible places and speak on ignorance and racism. In my dreams, I was eventually assassinated, but it was all for a good cause.
My current dreams consist of nothing. I have no plans for my future. I am just looking into an empty and lonely life... if I make it that far.

Me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me... I am so self centered.

You. Oh you. ohhhhh, you. I'm glad you think you're better than me. When you were this low, and I was there for you... oh nevermind. There really is no point to this.

Late night dinners do not make me desire you like I 'used to'. In fact, I don't know how much longer I can take it. I told you I wanted to move, and I really do. I want to move right now, but I have a job. I hate just getting up and leaving, you and I both know that. Which you am I talking to?

That short, yet great conversation I had with my sister just may have solved all my problems (lie), or maybe just one problem.

WHY AM I SO VAGUE?!

Mentally, I feel as though I was born a pariah. It is hard to understand. This entry has gone to shit.

And on my final note; why is it that I think of great poems, short stories and good lines when I have no pen or paper around me? Dammit.