I don't want to be inconsistent and that's why I have a problem with what I'm about to say. I don't want to be fickle. But there you are. Studying these days is like me going, "I have no interest in this whatsoever". It's like a sick joke.

I couldn't begin to think of how I feel right now. There's the physical part of me that's exhausted and then the mental part of me that is, yes exhausted, but also manic and haunted and alive. My jaw is all tight and my head is fuzzy and the white wine went down well with the ham breakfast sandwich I had a second ago.

I want to let go of somethings in my life. Take it out of context and make it into something bigger and scarier. My sick sick anxiety about everything, that constant repeating of the same thing over and over until it becomes so difficult to even recognize what you're worried about. But that pulsing feeling is still there telling you to be anxious, be anxious, say the words, say the words. The words are meaningless, they lost their meaning a hundred sayings ago, but there's emotion behind them, relief and security. But not after the first 99 times. Only on the hundredth does it do anything.

That's one thing I want to get out there. The other involves how much I want to leave school. I want this part of my life to be finished and over. It already feels finished to me. Maybe that means, though that it never truly began that this whole year of reluctance, or maybe it was the last few years of reluctance that made it so.

That was the fuzzier part of my brain talking. I can't defuddle now though. It's gotta be osmething big.