Fuck, the banner ad at the top of the screen for grenjelybean is turning me on. Those guys kissing. Makes me miss D.

So I figured out it wasn't the fucking plague that was killing me, nor was it the Paxil. It was the apple juice. I shit you not. Apple juice Caitlin bought for me a few days ago. I was feeling fine this morning, and I woke up and the sugar was a bit low so I drank some, and half an hour later I'm puking. And I hadn't taken the Paxil yet.

Fuck me.

So things I've been thinking about:

What would happen if make it through this semester without having a nervous breakdown, without relapsing on heroin or taking methadone habitually, maintain this beautiful thing with Dexter, get Caitlin back on her feet, get this fucking essay published like motherucker promised, keep my chin up, and make it back to Berkeley for the summer? I mean, it's all within my reach. All of it. I haven't felt this sure of myself in ages. Maybe the pharmaceuticals are working. I feel so fucking sober it's weird.

Reading habitually again. I've been. Speaking in incomprehensible syntax. I've been. Just kidding.

I want to talk in person with someone. I've been so reclusive the last few weeks. Adam is frightened for me at times. I feel bad for the poor souls that have to live with me. I must seem so lost. Ha. Fuck that. I'm feeling perfect. So perfect I could fuck the town up tonight. Fuck it up in my room with a fucking word. With a fucking Exacto and some caffeine and some computer printouts and a fucking snow-dome wiht Jesus on it that I got in Seattle!

Fuck! I'm going to tear it all down tonight. All. Down. Tonight.

Oh, p.s. I'm keeping track of my favorite words. So far the list goes: 1)stellar. 2)exegesis. 3)chipper. 4)catharsis. 5)inferno. 6)pharmacodynamic (and no, I'm not using) 7)WARNING. 8)grand. 9)integral.

'Let's pretend this song won't end and we never have to go home.' ----'Nothing Matters When We're Dancing' by The Magnetic Fields