The Diary of Antoine Roquentin

As you can see, I’ve redesigned my site. I like it. I did the thing where I go to sleep right after dinner and wake up at about midnight, so I had a lot of time on my hands. I like the new design. Hopefully I can get some work done on the about me page this week. God I’m tired. I think I’m going to take a nap or something. I’m still not prepared for my speech. Crapola. And I still couldn’t come up with an overheard convo. I got one, but it was only eight lines. At least I tried, right? Fuck. I wish I could talk about why I feel this way, why I’m in this mood, but I can’t. I have to let it fester inside me. Maybe I should start a private “diary” or something. But I guess it’s the same thing, once it’s out there in black and white and in print, you are culpable for your feelings and assertions. I’m just sick of everything.

That whole partying with my coworkers thing this weekend was SO freaking strange. I am going to be SO weirded out for so long. I wish I could just throw caution to the wind and write passionately about whatever the fuck I wanted, but I can’t. Fuck. Pretty soon I’m not going to know anyone who gets me to talk about things I can’t post. Kelly gets me, Molly gets me, Becky gets me. Other than that, I’m stranded in the desert of the real. Language can’t express anything. Fuck. I feel so alone in this town even though I’m with people all the time.

I had this horrible dream tonight that my mom was dying from being hit by this giant wave and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I just felt so helpless. When I woke up from that I realized that yes, my mom is going to die, and I need to prepare myself. I had never before even concieved of the possibility. I helped my mom print some CD labels today. She’s getting DSL, so we will have full video voice chats from Monday on. That should be cool. Well, my wrist is killing me and I can’t vent my angst by blogging, so I guess I should just go to sleep. Fuck.