20 minutes.
I feel like a zombie. Too many stairs and tennis balls and stretching. Not enough red, white, or black. Not enough time for anything it seems. I'd like to dig through old clothes once more and be complimented on my style but I am far too lazy to even brush my hair. Last night I went to Biddy's for a light drink with Stephy. I ended up blacking out in the shower and vomiting down the drain.
15 minutes.
I don't know why I do creepy things, but I'm looking under every rock and down every rabbit-hole I can until I get it right. Only the problem is that I shouldn't, I should just be, but if I let myself be, I will fall asleep. Kind of how I'm falling asleep while writing this. Thankfully people are screaming. Why they are screaming at a library, I don't really know. I don't remember the last time someone that I found mentally and physically attractive called me gorgeous, so I decided to milk the moment for all it was worth. Milked it raw. Where are all the boys that are really like that? Do they exist? Do I pass them at intersections? Or am I the only one that stresses endlessly about this? Probably. Most definitely. I need to use the computer significantly less now that I'm endlessly embarrassed.
10 minutes.
New York makes me happy. I think. I'm too tired to elaborate. Time to go home.