I tried hanging out with people my own age today.

It failed miserably.

I don’t think anyone reads my xanga anymore since I have so many other internet personalities to attend to, so I think I can write a bit more fearlessly in here now.

I am barely clutching on to rational thought right now. It’s taking every ounce of my consciousness to maintain a relatively healthy balance between my emotions. There are just too many potential realities that I could be facing in the not-so-distant future, each of which featuring everything falling apart. And I’m tired of falling apart. Or sometimes I just feel like Andy Warhol. Maybe I just never fall together.

Fuck girl-dom, man. Because 10 to 1, these could just be hormones.

I’m going to read The Alchemist now. Whatever, heart. I’m better off without you.

“Hello, world. This is me. Life should be. Mmm mmm yeah. Fun for everyone.”

1 paragraph and 1 page down, 2 pages and 4 paragraphs to go. All within the next 3 hours before I have to turn it in. Oh, Machiavelli. You are going DOWN.

Hey, baby xanga. How you doin’. It’s been a while.