i think i survived five years by working so much that i couldn't think. most weeks in texas i would clock 100-120 hours. it feels good. the only time i had to myself was falling asleep with E. and i'd bury my face in her hair and neck and that was good. it still is, but there's so much time with everything else. why is there so much time.

i still think about it every day. i think about buying a gun. i looked it up and green card holders can buy them just like everyone else. E. is the only reason. i get irritable and distant and i know this is why, i know i'm pushing away. i do my best to reverse it when i'm aware. i know i'm shitty.

i went to a doctor finally and got some mood stabilizers and this is where my mood has stabilized. oops.

The unfamiliar itself becomes all too familiar, and the strange madness of the déjà vu turns into the ordinary madness of the déjà disparu.

the one thing i felt good about in the last six months was packing a ton of film and my camera and driving to louisiana, 2000 miles. my pictures came back yesterday, all ugly and amateur. it's not like i want to be a fucking Artist and have the world see, nor have it be profitable. i just want to find something that helps.

whining is gross. see you next year.