I don't know what I'm doing.. up late at night avoiding sleep andavoiding touching; avoiding that the thoughts still hurt, sting and drip into my eyes when I'm walking alone; avoiding the pain in my ear I can't afford to pay for, avoiding the fact I can't read small letters anymore and need new glasses.

I'm going to write a list for fiction writing class about avoidance. Marcia should like it at 1:30 on a Tuesday for four hours.. well I won't be reading the list for four hours but the class is four hours and it flies by and that disturbs me.

I decided that I will not be happy unless I am doing what I want to do and then that will ultimately lead me to success. I've bitched and moaned about this before but I keep having to remind myself of that over and over because I forget easily.

I'm also going to write a list of people i can't get out of my head and try not to cry if I decide to read it.

Fiction writing class is like gross group therapy sometimes.. sticky and gooey, clinging softly to the hairs on all our upper lips .. that is if you don't wax or shave.. you know... yeah.

1:30 in the morning is a freeing time, like your heart exploding late at night; late at night when you're 88 and on the verge of total incontinence and the death comes sweet and perfect so your youngest, most selfless, child won't have to wipe your ass for you when you can't hold it in.

That's what 1:30 in the morning is like.. full of stinky shit you can usually hold in.. but for some reason you can't and it all goes boom.. and you die.

I guess.