What's Wrong With Me?

Everything in my life seems alternately beautiful, intense,--almost too vivid, too incredible to bear--and then becomes depressing and repulsive a few minutes later. My poems are bad and my fiction can't be born and I'm behind in every single one of my classes and tonight I watched a Mandy Moore movie and I would've cried if Jon hadn't come in at the fucking climactic moment. I just want to be alone and sometimes I hate him so much I feel like I'm actually burning with resentment and revulsion. But he's my friend, and sometimes I care deeply about him too. I get so mad so often and then it burns away like oil on water, leaving the water behind untouched so that the spill and the flames can occur again and again and again. I don't even know what I'm saying, but I'm freezing. And it's late and I have so much work due tomorrow and I haven't done any of it. Any of it. Ugh. I miss Columbo's little furry presence. Couldn't self-obsess as much when I had a tiny dog to entertain.