Ill Communication: Journal, Late August, 1995

I think one reason I’m always sick is because I have nothing better to do than be sick. Also I am a hypochondriac. I probably shouldn't have gone to Cat's Cradle last night. (Sigh).

I’m listening to Dinosaur Jr and feeling extremely sorry for myself while my roommate is talking to her boy toy and doing the whole sweet nothing thing that makes me feel like a chump.

I am lonely and sick and broke.

I cannot think of which one of these thing I don’t want to be worse.

I hate coughing.

Of course, I am currently smoking, which is stupid, but you know me . . . impractical, self-destructive, inclined to make the worst choice.

I’m going to put this cigarette out and drink a bunch of Ny-Quil and prepare to take a placement exam at 10:30 tomorrow morning, which I can’t say I’m looking forward to.

3:00am

I’m wide awake again, smoking in bed, which means the house will probably burn down. The house is totally trashed, by the way. I just ashed on the floor. I don’t even care.

There are like ten different people’s hair in the bathroom.  Some of it is blue. I don’t even know where to start. It makes me want to cry when I think about dealing with it.