I Think Reality Is Over-rated

The Problem With All These Fiercely Individualistic Girls Was That They Were All Exactly The Same.

I Contemplate The Idea That Maybe I'm An Alcoholic. I Get This Occassionally, The Need To Define Myself As Something-or-the-other, And At Various Times In My Life Have Wondered If I'm A Goth, A Homosexul, A Jew, A Catholic Or A Manic Depressive, Whether I Am Adopted, Or Have A Hole In My Heart, Or Possess The Ability To Move Objects With The Power Of My Mind, And Have Always, Most Regretfully, Come To The Conclusion That I'm None Of The Above. The Fact Is I'm Actually Not Anything.

And They Did Have Fun, Though It Was Of Different Kind Now. All That Yearning And Passion Had Been Replaced By A Steady Pulse Of Pleasure And Satisfaction And Occasional Irritation, And This Seemed To Be A Happy Exchange; If There Had Been Moments In Her Life When She Had Been More Elated, There Had Never Been A Time When Things Had Been More Constant.

Imagine Staying Awake All Night Not Because You're Worried About The Future But Because It's Fun

Time To Tidy Up Your Life. Time To Start Again.