I.S. is destroying me. I feel incredibly uninspired to do anything more besides eat. A lot. And sleep even more. This is one of the times when I question my pursuit of higher education. I know it will probably be worth it in the long run, but my soul aches. My soul is throwing up in its mouth a little. I think my brain is trying to escape, and I don't blame her.
Fuck, I feel worthless.
Wow. I've written about writing about how I'm writing about a writer writing for the past like, 4 or 5 entries. Fuck you, metafiction. Never never ever again. I can't wait until I'm DOING something instead of uh... this.