oh lord.maybe 12 days in, and dire, drunk, despairful; will liver and psyche survive this? How tempting, to cease upon this night w/ no pain. The LOST ost, that speaks to that pain that's infinite, that's hopeful. And a mother zu hause, durchgeleidet. And one day, ofc, I will be dead; and let's hope that day's soon. No, that's too harsh. But imagine, you can tell in an instant that certain people aren't going to fit into the academia; you can tell to, let's hope not, that people aren't going to fit into people. Always to be alone? Can I even contemplate that? Let's note that since I began this blog I have not had a girlfriend, and that having a girlfriend was the one thing I have sought.

That one can sustain, sober, a sort of minimal level of being, that one can walk the streets and run errands and smile shyly at people whom one's awkwardness awkwardizes; that one can drip, in a darkening 4 pm, in a mislocated argos buying a lamp, waiting, 11 minutes of life here in an aloneless that's among; and then walk home, and the vague animal thoughts that accompany the journey, that the rain makes bothersome.

And you sneer, slightly, that the rain discomfits, and you think of the pellucid lies that you can tell of what you did, and pray for monday, coz empty friday, empty sat'day are far hence, and everybody hates monday so you, hating everyday, are accidentally normal. No, not hating everyday.

And yeah, this is silly, but YOU, sober Watt, reading this; as read this you will - because you will sober and rue this - and you will library and lie, and spend next weekend beastly alone