Reality

I have got to stop pretending that I can go to sleep at 3:30am and get up at 8am the next day. Especially if I've had a bottle of wine right before I go to bed. I have one of those selective memories and one idea I've preserved (with no solid examples or anecdotes to support it) is that I could, in fact, go to sleep at 3:30am and get up at 8am when I was a freshman in college. I think the C from my 8:30am anthropology class that year wants to say otherwise. Anyway, it's past noon and I'm just getting started on the stuff I'd planned to do between 9am and 11:30am.

Exhausted With It All

I just want someone to say something that will make it all matter, make any of it matter. Why can't I stop drifting between anxiety-ridden to under the influence to profoundly lost and alone? The slivers of happiness I find in this bedrock of confusion and denial sometimes make it worthwhile, but they are always gone before I can even begin to figure out why they've come.