When I get tired and way spaced out, I legitimately forget which foot belongs to which leg.  It’s trippy.

Sometimes I sit and think about dying.  How when I’m dead, it will be nothing.  I can’t even consider what it would be like.  I just won’t be here.  When you get really into thinking about it, even if you feel like you’re pretty ok with the concept, it’s really scary.  It’s so out of the ordinary.  It’s the complete negation of everything: it’s nothing.

I don’t believe in heaven.  And, if there is a heaven, it won’t be like anything I can imagine, and there is certainly no hell.  I don’t particularly believe in reincarnation, but if something like it exists, it won’t be a newly conscious me without memory of my past life.  It will just be a leaf, or a toad, or a sparrow, or some poor schmuck from Kansas, with my karma.

Sometimes, no, most of the time, I just want to sit with a guitar even though I’m not very good and just rot from the inside out.  Maybe I should start smoking cigarettes.  It would be nice to have a real hobby.

I can barely do work anymore.  It’s hard for me to write papers when I’m off of my medicine, but the medicine only helps if I care about what I’m doing.  I’m not in the right place for that.  If I took that medicine right now, I’d very efficiently and properly pack up exactly what I needed to survive, and I’d be gone, quickly. 

“Less than two months.”  That’s what I keep telling myself.  With every vacuous keystroke.  With every fucking time I have to sit in a desk.  “Less than two months.”  I’ll never sit in a desk again.  Ever.

Even so, I’m so close to leaving.  So close to the end, but I’m ready to grab a train ride to just about anywhere each time I have to face what I have left.  It’s not particularly daunting, but I’ve never been one for doing a half-ass job, and it’s barely what I’m capable of at this point. 

I don’t believe in what I’m doing.  That makes it hard for me to do.  I am aching to do something real.  Something that matters to me.  Something that makes my blood surge and my nerves go haywire.  I want to feel my heart beat again.

It doesn’t beat for this anymore.