it’s late and probably too late for a journal entry on my goddamn web page, but what the hell. I went to bed at 7:30 in the evening and woke up around midnight. these things can’t be helped. I’m sick and tired of a lot of things. sleep is not only collapse, but a celebration of my own personal space. I don’t, however, take a break from depression. it follows me into dreams and sometimes magnifies. the worst is the kind of depression in which the source of that depression is forgotten and cannot be pinpointed. mine today is very concentrated and the initial notion is to *try* and forget it, push it from the mind. I don’t really want to go with that. even if I have to cry a little, I should do it. others want to flush their system. I want mine to collapse, I suppose.
writing comes back around as the most real thing to me, the most individual component of my life. I wish I were more true to it. I don’t, for example, go out on a limb with it, and try to write professionally. instead I work all these shit jobs in attempt to support my writing habit, and the writing itself slips off into the background, sometimes disuse altogether.
the job I was trying to get fell through for me. no matter how hard I tried to prepare for the rejection, it was still very hard for me to deal with today. it rained all over me, all over everybody, and was cold, and I was just pissed off I guess. that hopeless feeling that there is nothing here in Roanoke to hold onto it. it’s a shame because I really do like it here. it’s a simplified life away from D.C. for some reason I didn’t expect the financial situation to be so difficult when I moved away. things are much worse now in that area.
my kitten is awesome. home life in the house/apt. building is awesome. we have a new kitten, Kala. he’s into everything, attacking anything that moves. it sometimes drives me insane, like when I have something to do. slept through some good television shows, but Casey taped them for me. just located an electronic version of James Joyce’s Dubliners, Portrait of An Artist As A Young Man, and Ulysses.
BGKPOETRY.COM 