Sunday

I've been growing a crack nail for a couple weeks. Not for functional reasons; the world of cocaine actually terrifies me, probably with good cause. Actually i've been growning this nail out of sheer laziness. The littlest things have seemed like the hardest things to accomplish lately. You know, like paying my bills (just going online and paying them, not makign the money) cutting my nails, getting out of bed in the morning, keeping my room clean. One more indication of clinical depression to add to the list.

I've decided I don't really care for words of reassurance anymore. Nobody understands, nobody will. Some may think they can. That only insults me more, generalizing my pain, or associating it with something non-personal. "It's as though my pain isn't mine, like I feel this way just because every other guy..."

I feel like Cheeko from Lords of Flatbush. Watch the movie, I'm not going to explain. I only mentioned that because it was playing as I wrote this. In any case, the fact is I'm burdened by the glass ceiling romantically. This has had backlashes on my emotions, so a change is in need. Unlike the fly in a jar, I potentially have the ability to transcend my dillemma but potential is misleading. I'm confused. I'm...confused. But I'll think about, then understand. Pray for mojo.