I'm sinking again. I just can't seem to lift my head out of the clouds this year. I can see this impending doom hanging just at the horizon but I can't seem to pick my feet up to run from it. What's wrong with me? Why do I insist on standing around watching the walls crumble and melt? I'm just a lazy asshole I guess. It really sucks though. This whole semester has felt like a joke. It's like I don't have a million things to juggle time over so somehow I'm just letting everything drop. All of it. I don't want to be this way. (On a side note: I think that I need to permanently remove the word "really" from my vocabulary.) Today I had strong feelings about quitting school again and moving away from Chicago, finding a job somewhere and starting a new life. I know, in my heart, that this is just a stupid slump that I'm going through due to living at my house with my "wedding driven" family. I swear! I'm so fucking sick of this wedding bullshit and if I hear one more thing about my dress not being fitted or get questioned one more time about how I'm going to do my hair I'm going to rip it all out. I'm sick of hearing about table settings and who my cousin's dates are. Just chain my legs and cart me where ever you want me to be and I'll zombie myself down the isle. Maybe this is the problem. Maybe it's my mother who keeps coming into my room every 15 minutes for no real reason but always with an excuse. Maybe it's my all-yelling-all-the-time brother. Maybe it's the fact that every loud conversation has to take place 3 feet from my bedroom door but I'm not allowed to play my music loud past 10 o'clock. It could be the fact that I have never felt completely at ease- even in my own room- in months.

I need to get out of here.

Did I tell you that I found my doorway. I found it and had to push it aside and now I can't really seem to write anything. See what it is is that I'm supposed to write this "instance" collection for my Prose Forms class and it has been such a trying experience for me. It's not about the class- at least I don't think my problem is the class. It's mental- as every problem in my life is. I've been in this position too many times before and I've came out of it everytime. I just don't know why I keep allowing myself to repeat this shithead habit. What am I afraid of? Non-Fiction? See that's sort of true. It isn't the subject matter- because that is always my choice. Something else is keeping me down, keeping me from the right words. (note at this point in writing I decided that taking a drink from my neighboring wine bottle was a good idea- and it was twice or so over...)

I need a cigarette. And a hitter.