| I had a weird dream, that I blame on watching Pulp Fiction the night before. I mean, I've seen it before yesterday, but why have this dream now? I was on a giant mirror, coked out of my mind, lying face down on it, and snorting huge, long lines of the stuff. When I woke up, my nose was clogged.
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| She came over and watched Pulp Fiction with me. Jesus. I'm so... happy.
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| Well, I'm back home again. Time is passing so slowly that I feel like everything that happens, everything in me, everything I do is coming to a halt. The job isn't helping. I'm already falling into a routine that is screwing with my mind. Routine bothers me. Go home. Energy drink. Shower, get clothes, eat. Vegetate. Try to sleep and fail horribly, spend the rest of the time reading until I can hit the clock's alarm milliseconds after it goes off. Shower, coffee, internet news, get dressed, no breakfast. Brush teeth, leave. Train, walk, work, Lynn, go home.
Ever have that sudden feeling where you just, I don't know, see killing yourself? I was on the platform, waiting for the train. It came, and I had a fucked-up, primal, insane urge to just throw myself in front of the thing. Happened out of nowhere, lasted for exactly a second, and disappeared just as quickly. I can't afford to be crazy.
I'm just going to go lie down or something.
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