I want a little note book to write in when I cannot get to a computer. My hand writing is atrocious but in times like this it’s either write or self-destruct.
I am broke. I have no job. I am unemployed. I am lazy. I sleep till 2pm everyday and do not care. I don’t make enough art or big enough pieces to justify living in this 1700/month studio. My parents are disapointed in me. No that that should matter, but it fucking does. I have no sex drive whatsoever. I wish I could sleep all day and not wake up. I am told I may be depressed. They might be right. My roommate is being passive, grumpy, stressed and it is getting on my fucking nerves.
I have no desire to throw another party. The thrill is gone. It left a long time ago. I want to fly to Maui and live on the beach. I don’t want pitty. Yet I feel completely fucked. I refuse to go on medication. It will weaken my will and confirm my weak-mindedness. I feel selfish even telling you this. As if you fucking care or need to hear this. I feel like what you’re thinking is right. I fully agree with you — “You have nothing to worry about. Nothing to complain about.” So then what the fuck is my problem?
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