i talk to myself. in my head. all the time. if i were ever alone. completely-no-one-within-five-miles alone i would talk to myself out loud. i would yell. rant. scream. sob. my mind is flying at a mile a minute, maybe even father, and faster, it's running away. it doesn't want to be here anymore. neither do i.

i'm drinking white soy milk. it tastes almost the same as the syrup saturated chocolate mix i adore so much. nicole where are you?
my father is talking about scotland. aberdene. i am excited. too excited. emotionless excitement though, don't worry. i won't get hurt.
i love that rob wrote "out of context" on his binder in english. i love it so much.

my kitchen smells like chocolate. and i didn't die from malnutrition because i had pizza (well sorta) and pink pop at lunch. and mom went grocery shopping this afternoon. but she didn't really get anything. said so herself. i don't see the point.

man... i'm sorry guys, stop reading right now! this is terrible tripe.

i am fed up with school. i am a loser. i hate it. i hate me. i am unhappy and i don't have the energy to change it. i'm scared. really really really really scared. i am scared because i don't have any power anymore. i don't have direction or desire or interest. i don't have anything. i'm on zombie auto-pilot and i can't get out. i come home and i sit. i just sit. i don't do anything at all. i can't think of anything to do. i have a massive box of fancy art supplies, most never touched. i can't think of anything to paint, or even draw. there's nothing. today in art i painted red. a whole sheet of red. I didn't have any blue and without blue i couldn't make anything. i can't make anything.

my mother went to 17th ave today. the 17th ave. the same one that i have been talking about going to for the past... 6 months at least. the 17th ave that she told me not to go to without her. she promised to take me on saturday. only because i said I was going on saturday.

i really really really want to be completely and totally alone. i don't think i've ever been that alone. i talk to myself, but not really. not in any sence that you would notice. one day though, i'll snap and i'll be the eccentric lady walking down the street with the oversized purse full of weathered paperbacks, i'll be the one muttering to myself on the bus, and the one sitting on the sidewalk with the paint under her fingernails and no shoes. that will be me.