The last couple of days have flew by. I have done nothing but lay around and be depressed kinda. I'll be fine, and then all of sudden a feeling of helplessness just comes over me.

My friend said today after poppin a few xanax, "I wish there was a pill called *fuckitall*." That gave me a little laugh.

I still have that nervous anxiety, or butterflys, and I dunno why.

I just feel like I'm stuck in this "cracker box minutia" slowly leading me to my demise.

Sometimes I feel like mrs. Dalloway

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excerpts from Mrs. Dalloway

by Virginia Woolf

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She would not say of any one in the world now that they were thisor were that. She felt very young; at the same time unspeakably aged. She sliced like a knife through everything; at the same timewas outside, looking on. She had a perpetual sense, as she watched the taxi cabs, of being out, out, far out to sea and alone; she always had the feeling that it was very, very dangerous to live even one day. Not that she thought herself clever, or much out of the ordinary.

she would not say of herself, I am this, I am that.Her only gift was knowing people almost by instinct, she thought, walking on. If you put her in a room with some one, up went herback like a cat's; or she purred.

what she loved was this, here, now, in front of her;

Did it matter then, she asked herself, walking towardsBond Street, did it matter that she must inevitably ceasecompletely; all this must go on without her; did she resent it; or did it not become consoling to believe that death ended absolutely? But what was she dreaming as she looked into Hatchards' shop window? What was she trying to recover?

This late age of the world's experience had bred in them all, all men and women, a well of tears. Tears and sorrows; courage and endurance; a perfectly upright and stoical bearing.

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