Evenings are always harder.

There is nothing here to challenge your senses or your deeper instincts. Everything is mild; everything is comfortable. The sky is never red or purple or black or yellow; there is no blistering heat or devastating cold; there are no unscalable peaks or roaring, impassable rivers.

It is warm. The sky is blue. Roads are smooth and flat. Wind is gentle.

There is nothing here that is ruthless, nothing to force you to feel alive.

Really disturbing dreams. Just really fscking disturbing.

I haven’t been mad at Je—e in a long time, but now I am really bitter again.

God I feel like hell.

1.00 in the morning on a Sunday.

I just printed out the blog and diary portions of my personal texts Two reams of paper, nearly a thousand pages. I still have to print the miscellaneous notes, rants, and lists, probably another hundred or two.

I don’t know if it will come to anything, but I’ve been meaning to do this for a couple of years.

Funny how when you’re young you hear people say, “I’ve been meaning to do this for a couple of years,” and you think, “you big fscking loser, how can you possibly think for a couple of years about anything without managing to get around to doing it?”

When you get older, you don’t even realize that you’ve been trying to get something done for years unless you stop and think about it. Otherwise, everything on your to-do list seems almost as though it were added last week, and you really do mean to get around to it in very short order.

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Strange also how when I’m living alone there never ever seems to be any incentive to go to bed, and I end up staying up until all hours.

I suppose work will be an incentive to go to bed.

Lousy fscking incentive.

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This coming week is gonna suck. I still haven’t figured out what to expect for the summer. I just know that it’s gonna be lonely at times.