Bad.

I can’t continue like this. I mean. I’m unemployed. That has to change. I’m staying up late for lack of anything else to do. I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to get up. I know I’m avoiding it. I’m terrified of applying to get a job.

Something has to change. Something, anything. Whether it comes from within or not, it doesn’t matter. Whether it’s me tricking myself into it to get it over with, or somebody threatening me, it doesn’t matter. I can do so much better things with myself.

At the very least, I promised myself I wouldn’t Cliff myself out until I got a job. That way, once I have a job, I can come and go as I please without feeling like I’m avoiding anything. ..So I avoid it here.

Maybe I need to look at it as a practice in fucking up. I’m so terrified I’ll fuck up. So maybe I just need to go fuck up. Fuck up and let things happen as they may. Maybe that’ll help me feel better.

Maybe. Or maybe not. Rhetoric is always as such, something to convince yourself for the purpose of getting over a hurdle. Something to discard once the trials are over.

Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow feeling better. If I can ever fall asleep tonight before it’s too late. I have to wake up earlier. I know that. It’s always a pain to figure out what I’m supposed to DO with that time from when I wake up to when the sun goes down.

I miss her. I crave.. companionship. Hugs. Attention.

Sigh.

If I ever do find my way out of this, I’ll go out shopping with my mom. I mean, grocery shopping. I want to buy some blocks of mozzerella, some instant ass (breakfast), and um. I dunno. I just feel silly asking for anything when I’m doing jack. I should be a contributing member of the household. I’d like to know where I get these crazy ideas, my parents never sat me down and told me this bullshit.

I miss my hair.

I wish I could play guitar.

I marvel at how things seem so dire and important at certain times, yet at other times, life is quite ordinary. Life is ordinary and I ponder how these things could seem anything but. But, that’s not quite what now is. At a later time, I’ll look back and chuckle at this routine dance I do. I always do this dance.

I wonder whether I should shave. I could just grow a winter-beard. Nevermind how dumb it would look. I could get a tan and look Arab? Naaaaaaaah.

I forget whether I stated so, but. A while ago, Paige and I agreed to stop shaving our downstairs. I wanted to see what sex with pubic hair would be like. Honestly, I like it. My official stance on pubic hair can be summed up in two words: No stubble. Stubble is ass. Shaved is cool. Hairy is cool. It’s just that ackward stage between is ass. Kind of the same when you cut your hair. There’s always that phase when it looks horrible, and there’s nothing you can do to style it right.

There is more wearing on me than I’m letting on. But, there are always things best kept to oneself.

One of these evenings, I’ll end up making molasses cookies. Given enough free time, I’ll be domestic. Nevermind that I’ll be eating most of them. They’re good shit.

I need to pee. Must be a sign to end the entry.