I am not fine.

Nothing comes. Not even me. I can’t even turn myself on. I’m tired, and all I do lately is complain about sitting around and nothing coming to me.

And I’m always trying to say something profound. But there is no pro found here. (See, even here, I’m jumping for sticks people.)

Huh. I believe things happen for a reason, so maybe it’ll help someday.

(No, I really don’t think that.)

Maybe I should just make some shitty film to do something.

But why? That question from the Back to the Future movies; why should I?

If there’s no real reason, why fake it?

Because it’s all I am right now, one big fat fake nothing.

I wish my friends would read this and tell me they love me.

(But Sarah doesn’t read this, she doesn’t know this, or me here, and, honestly, it seems like she should. Read this, that is. And by her not, it makes it seem that she…doesn’t have the time for it (knowing me). But. If you ever told her that? She’d Sigh. And that’s about it.)

(Oh, and read One Entry, probably the newest, and leave a note on that One.)

(You gotta love that, that once a every-three-months “I Will” thing. It gives a little hope where it’s needed.)

(What a long, unneeded parenthetical paragraph.)

I’m bored. That’s why I do that. And I don’t love anything right now.

idontlikeanyofmyentriesyouknowthefeeling

If you took the times to read that, I’m sorry.

(Op, here’s something actually kind of profound.)

Life looks so much better through just-rubbed-looking-at-the-ceiling-while-lying-down-crying eyes, because you just see one thing: what you want to.

I have no focus. An analogy: I need fucking contacts. (Always ending with the analogies, eh?)

(Well not anymore.)