I’m killing myself. I can feel the weakness, the sickness. There are many sides to human beings and what comes as a shock is meant to be predicted. At the ripe old age of twenty I have come to find out that my talent is not for me, nor is it about me. Everything revolves around outside happenings and how they affect my life. What would I do without society? As the morning creeps by I become more indulged in my creativity while sipping on Seagram’s and hacking up phlegm. My allergies are at an all-time high and my voice is unable to sing along with CDs. I lost the point again.
March 26, 1998