Tonight I met Augusten Burroughs, and he signed my chest. Pictures to come.
Dilemma.
Besides feeling screwed over, broken hearted and lost- I’m just trying to figure out what’s best for me. What I need. After a year and a half I have forgotten what I need, what makes me happy, what motivates me, to summarize, I’ve lost a large part of my identity. For the next two weeks it’s just trying to get friends to stay with me, and then I’m on my way. I’m moving home for the summer. I need to geographically heal. I need to sit down. I need to see new places, see old friends, make new memories, and forget old heartaches.
Every Night Turns Out To Be A Little Bit More Like Bukowski.
So Greg dumped me.
Because I’ve Got You
Sitting in Astronomy Lab.
High.
Klonipin, Zoloft, Reglan, Rantidine, Prilosec, and Birth Control never got this good as it is right now.
Off to go zone out now.
I miss Amadeus. Amadeus where art thou?
