writing

Blah…meh….

I don’t feel like much of a writer and I haven’t in a long time. I don’t feel like much of anything to anyone either. I am much better these days at choosing my thoughts – recognizing the harmful ones and throwing them away before they take root, like a weed in concrete. I’ve been living on a credit card and a lot of fucking prayer lately. I put the last of my checking account in my gas tank, and now I’m running up my credit card balance ’til pay day. The real toll of all this is that it makes me feel so exhausted and worn down. To live a struggle like this all alone and have no one along for the ride. The driver seat of my car is worn, but the passenger seat is pristine. Being happy and exhausted would not be that bad, I imagine. Being exhausted and in love would not be that bad, I imagine.

I am thankful for what I do have, but I’ll be hungry at work tomorrow. I’ll smell other peoples’ lunches and see their carry-out sandwiches. They will seem like wealthy people to me just because of that. Yesterday, I crept around the office in my dirty pants hoping for some treats or sweets in the break room. There were none.

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rug burns

So fuckin’ sad, depressed and powerless. I had only about five bucks in my account, which had to last me until payday on August 1. Cheney floated me $200.00, though…it sucked to accept it but I had to eat. I was skipping lunch at work. I had a dollar on Friday, which paid for the vending machine Sun Chips.

I haven’t even been getting enjoyment from the gym lately. I can’t lose enjoyment in the only things that get me through these depression days…daze. I need to hold onto those things. I need fuckin’ something, anything to cling to. Me and Katie went to Barnes and Noble today. I spent about twelve bucks on the journals above. Cheney said an hour of writing every day always helps her. I guess it’s like what masturbation does for me, maybe.

After Barnes and Noble we came back here and Katie fucked me on the living room area rug. It’s hard to be present…in the moment during depression…even during sex. Your thoughts are always floating elsewhere in the corners of your brain, but they’re rarely focused on what is right in front of you. She was grinding on top of me and I could only think about how the rug underneath me was scratching and burning my shoulders.

Katie is in the bathroom now re-doing her makeup, and the rug burns on the back of my shoulders are fresh and bright red. We’re going to walk down to Lola on Xerxes to get drunk on house wine.