In the beginning, there was nothing.

Something came from nothing, and now here we are in this world with our busy lives and our 8-5 jobs and our 2 weeks of fucking vacation once a year.

I've never been to Europe. I've never been to Mexico.

I've never been content.

I'm getting uglier. I'm getting wrinkles. I can't stop smoking and my complexion is only going to go downhill.

I'm only 21.

I've never been on MTV.

My fingers hurt. I complain too much. I'm full of hate. I'm full of love. I have so much passion and drive and ambition but I have to-date successfully squelched it with my awesome stoner powers.

I've never owned a hookah.

I've never skydived.

Sometimes I think about suicide in that romantic way that depressed little goth kids do. I would never do it.

I wish I was still goth.

I played the flute for 9 years and then I stopped. I just quit. Something that was so a part of my life.

I need to paint. I need to draw. I need the perfect body.

I can't wear a bikini.

I'm full of wasted talent and wasted potential. I suck at work. I suck at home. Even sex doesn't interest me anymore.

Maybe that's because my vagina is constantly broken.

I'm not a kid anymore. No part of me is a child. I wish I could have been a child forever... they told me I would think that when I was older and I didn't believe them. I thought I would love it and I would live it up. Now I have all the freedom in the world and I can do whatever I want and go whereever I want.

But something is holding me back. I'm like a fucking housewife with no husband, kids, or cooking skills.

I don't do things. I hate to leave my house, but I hate to be there. It's so dirty. The cats scrape the towels off the floor of the bathroom into the litter box to cover up their shit, and then I pick them up and shake them off and dry myself after a shower. How can I possibly get clean that way? I haven't been clean in years.

There was one time when I was 16 and my feet were cold for 3 months straight. I couldn't get them warm. Then I met this guy who had a furnace in his game room and I laid on my back on the floor and put my feet up on the furnace and just let them sit there for hours and hours until they were so hot I could hardly walk. That was the closest I've ever come to content.

That's what I need right now. A big furnace for my life. Some way to pick up all the pieces and straighten them out and stop running around like a chicken with my head cut off.

I don't know you people. I don't know who you are, what makes you tick, why you come here, why you read. I don't know you and yet I tell you everything. I think that maybe I can find some sympathy or understanding from you but it's all in vain. No one really cares what I write or what I feel. No one really knows me.

I should be a star. I was born to be a star. But I quit musical theater class for no good reason except that it scared me. One little time I stood up and they offered me constructive criticism and I couldn't fucking handle it.

I hate constructive criticsm.

I wanted to be a journalist at one time. I got an internship at OC Weekly and I wanted to write witty and inspiring and interesting articles for them but all they did was make me sit on the floor and alphabetize photos of local bands.

It's all piled on top of me. So much. Overwhelming me. And all I want to do is go home and lay with Matt and feel his warmth and his security while I play Ultima Online and emerse myself in an entirely virtual world where I can have control of nearly everything.

I miss my old friends so much. I never call them. I've never been to Mexico.

I have to pee.

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