I'm not doing so hot. I had a great night last night, watching movies at Matt's. But I don't know. Nothing really is making sense right now. Nothing is fitting together the way it should. I want to get out of town. And then I want to get out of the town that I'm getting out to. Let me be a little more concrete: I want to go home to Berkeley. And then I want to get away to Seattle. I don't want to deal with stress. I don't want to incur stress. I don't want to delude myself further. The truth is: I am a bastard. I really think that. I'm just another cunt in New York City that doesn't do anything productive.

I have my moments. The train doors closing on my head, crushing my glasses, that was a moment. Fucking Scott. That was a moment. Having him tell me a few days ago that he won't again, and that he doesn't want me to act like I did when he got here to NYC. That was a moment. Having Laura ask if I'm cutting my wrists. Who needs friends when you've got friends like these?

I don't mean that at all. But I felt like writing it, even though it is a lie. I am a liar.

I printed out the first 50 or so pages of pi. I want to walpaper my room with it. That will make me happy. I'm memorizing it. I have nothing important in my life.

nothing

Dexter makes me happy. I don't know him. But I think I do. I want to. He's one of the few people I have any interest in right now. Laura and Caitlin are static in my life, but hardly any other folks. He's one I want.

We are going to Seattle together.