Nevermind. It’s not over. I’m gonna need it, this blog.

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What’s the matter with me? Do I hate myself this much? Why doesn’t the truth ever occur to me, much less come out my fucking weasel mouth?

Half the people in my life would abandon me in a second if I stood up for myself.

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NYC baby. NY fucking C.

It’s 4.20 am and I have to work in the morning, and I said this blog was over, but nonetheless here I sit writing, awake and unhappy. This sucks. I’m 29 years old and I’m laying here alone. Alone. Alone for months to come. I am alone at night and she’s got company, just like last summer, when I stood awake in the dark on my trailer-patio under the moon, smoking and drinking and waiting, making everyone in my life tense in the process. I feel like an asshole for not being supportive. I also feel cripplingly lonely and confused in this apartment and in this city right now.

Maybe I’m not good enough. Maybe I just suck. I’m just too tired to think straight, not asleep or getting any rest yet not awake enough to understand.

It’s all beyond me, ponderous and stupid. Everything feels foreign and there’s nothing and no one to share anything important with while I imagine my loved one thousands of miles away and wonder at the difference in our lives. I feel selfish for even typing this, but I have to communicate with someone right now, reach out and touch something, or I’m going to jump in my car and drive.

And I can’t do that because I have to go to work in a moment.

Already I feel guilty, and I don’t even know why. Maybe it’s because I think I’m a liar.

Bah. It’s clear I won’t get any sleep tonight, and of course I have to work 8 hours momentarily at high stress, before coming home to the brief interim between workdays.

I wish there was something I wished for.

It’s 3.25 am and I have to work in the morning, and I said this blog was over, but nonetheless here I sit writing, awake and unhappy. This sucks. I’m 29 years old and I’m laying here alone. Alone. Alone for months to come. Why? Why should it have to be like this? I am a living, breathing, generous person rapidly passing my peak — a human who needs warmth like anyone else.

She is now, as I sit here typing, sharing her sleeping quarters with others. She’ll do so for all these months, a warmth of the opposite gender nearby, a comfort that all adult humans crave. Just like last summer, while I slept for months alone, or stood awake nights on my trailer-patio under the moon, smoking and drinking and waiting, making us both tense in the process.

I chose this, it’s true. And I still do. But maybe I’m not good enough. I’m just too tired to think straight, not asleep or getting any rest yet not awake enough to understand.

But right now it’s all beyond me, ponderous and stupid. Everything feels wrong and foreign and there’s nothing and no one to hold onto or sense in the room, while I imagine my loved one thousands of miles away and wonder at the difference in our lives and try to figure out whether I’m being selfish or foolish or just a fool, period, for even typing something like this.

Already I feel guilty.

But I’m only half awake anyway.

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Now 4.15. It’s clear I won’t get any sleep tonight, and of course I have to work 8 hours momentarily at high stress, before coming home to it’s-not-clear-what.

I’ve got to find something to take the pressure off. Something so that I’m not just waiting for a phone call, waiting for the weekend, waiting for the fall, waiting for the fall after that. You can’t live waiting. It’s pressure. It’s destructive. It’s wasteful. Nobody wants to be around you. You don’t want to be around yourself. You can’t sleep and you begin to make everyone around you unhappy because you are a weight and a burden, a big ball of impatience and dissatisfaction that they feel responsible for.

Life as an adult: you can’t have what you want. Any time you try to have one thing, you won’t have another. I’m so incredibly tired. Right now, I just wish I could sleep.