2/11/11.

OK.  Today, I like the way I get this sickness, like a nausea from being alone too long, isolated.  I thought in the coffee shop how nice it would be just to talk to this girl or that girl.  Yet this is what I am thankful for, this sick feeling, the tension, the frustration, the sadness.

IAWL: Well, I stayed in most of the day, save for the gym, and the coffee shop.  I talked to no one at either place.  But I did talk to Joe Bruckner and dad's other friends on the phone today, and that was nice, and I was nice to them.

Verdict: Well, I guess it was a successful day.  I did stuff, I wrote, etc.  But I wonder, what if these are all lies.  What if none of these days have really been "successful"?  What if I said today was a failure.  Hell with it.  Today was a big fucking failure.  I was lonely and sick and sad.  But who gives a shit.  This post is all it comes to, and then it's over, and tomorrow begins.  And the days will keep coming, regardless of my (in)ability to make them successes.  You can have a string of successes, but sooner or later all the deficiencies catch up to you, and what can you do.  Go to bed.