I torture myself. Seriously. It's like that loose tooth that, as a child, you can't help but wiggle all day with your tongue until it's hanging in your mouth by a thread of your gums. I ususally grabbed at it, eventually- afraid of swallowing it- and ripped it out of my mouth. I have never minded the taste of blood. Does that make me a little odd to you?

Today I was seriously ready to quit. Seriously. I got so fucking frustrated with myself and making shitty mistakes on my records at work I was ready to just get up and walk out. But I know it's not horrible. I really don't suck at what I do, and if I did, I hope Erin would tell me. Fuck indicators. I hate them all.

I've been working on a drawing for almost a month now. I pick it up when I feel like it and add a few lines here and there. Black ink and for the most part all I have right now is a tree. But so far it's turning out to be something I don't hate looking at- which is unilke most of the things I draw which no one ever sees because I have a secret love for tearing up paper. I miss the days when I got paid $10 an hour to mess up copies just to shread them. Eating chinese take out sitting on cement pillars watching the traffic alone... Why can't I do that now? Oh yeah...

I hid in the bathtub until my skin resembled a raisin. You should remember to feel how the water tickles your ears as the level lowers past. I half expected my skin to peel off, like a boiled potato, slimy chunks of me, when I toweled off after spending at least 10 minutes just laying in the empty tub.