I wrote an entry last night, so it seems. Funny thing is, I don't remember doing it. I've been living in a haze the past couple of days, not really knowing what's really going on around me. I suppose it's good to live this way sometimes. At least I don't think I'm missing any big picture. Patrick, who I miss so very much, called me last night and left a message on my machine. I got home around 4 A.M., and it made the day even better to hear his voice. You are always in my thoughts.

I might be disappointing myself by writing these entries with no real thought put behind them, but who cares, right? The situation is not really mine to be fully concerned about, but just being there is a good thing. I can observe objectively and put forth opinion as needed. That's about it. I like to think I live my life realisitcally, as opposed to idealistically (are those real words? I never know. I'm in a constant battle with myself for words that I think I make up). I try to take things for what they are and not what I'd like them to be. My ideals are too far fetched, so why even bother conjuring up something in my head that will never exist? To live in harmony with my environment is the healthiest way for me (and probably for most people). I don't really know what I'm talking about, I'm just babbling.

It was gorgeous outside today, a first for Chicagoland weather in a long while. The smell...only *you* know what smell it was. I'm sorry *you* don't see yourself the way I do, just as *you* are sorry that I do not see myself the through the eyes in which *you* view. But I'm sorry I cannot provide *you* with enough answers to your questions. I am inadequate in that sense. I'm going to make little golden birdies that rest peacefully in a bag.








4:31 P.M.
I woke up, and I was dying. I slept restlessly through four hours of the early morning, and still, I was dying. Strangest thing, to feel yourself go that path. Every dream I had was a nightmare, that much I can remember. I don't care anymore, I just don't care. I'm not mad and I'm not angry. I'm just tired. There's 7 hours of sleep behind these cloudy eyes. After I got in a 45 minute rest last night, I awoke to see John standing in the door of my room. He stood there smiling, and I motioned for him to come sit with me. He read the letter I'd written to him the night before, and then lay down next to me. That was the best part of last night...him simply laying down beside me just to hold me, to tell me that he loved me. This is sappy. But it's my sap goddamnit. Let me be. He's been doing a lot of little things to show me that he cares. But regardless if he does or doesn't (sometimes I just don't know), he cares. He always does. I don't know if he'll ever see things (mainly himself) for what they really have to offer. It's hypocritical of me to say that. I should call him or something. He's probably sleeping.

No more running around in my own nightmares. It's got to stop. Last night was just weird. It's the first time that I've ever quoted sleep to be weird, but that's all there really was to it. Time moved like molasses, but it seemed as if I had ten thousand nightmares in a matter of minutes. Maybe they weren't nightmares, but reality. I'm obsessed with reality, really. I want to do something, but I have no motivation to even get up out of this chair to enjoy the company of my bed.








10:46 P.M.
They've all been nightmares, even the reveries I have in minuscule amounts of sleep. I fear going back to sleep, inducing what could be more of something I want to destroy. I've come to the conclusion that spring break will be not one for rememberance. It only serves as more time for me to sit and do nothing. Slant rhymes are all I can give...

It hurts so much sometimes to listen to music. I know it's something that isn't meant to bring pain, but when the words and music ring nothing but memories of hurt, silence is the best policy. Last night he asked that girl why she took offense to something so simple, so beautiful. That girl replied, just as she had times before that it wasn't just the concept of simplicity, but the excuses that were muttled up behind it. Because she was pushed aside, that girl felt unwanted...she felt like the convenience. And now she's just lonely.

Thailand made my underwear. Indonesia made my boxers. America made my shirt. I made the bracelets. Ebay auctions underwear. Did you know that? Where was I when these items were made? Does it matter...? Not really. I still buy into the whole of consumerism as a whole, partly because it is unavoidable. Maybe I'll just start to run around naked, especially since warmer weather is coming up. This entire paragraph was a waste, but it was something to do.