quitting smoking has been HELL.

I went to see Burlesque last night with a bunch of goths and let me tell you, it was beautiful and horrible and Los Angeles is quite a city.

I “networked” which was foreign and tasty and strange and exciting.

Cigarettes.

My lovers.

My mistress.

I miss you.

I’m gonna start a Russian novel in hopes to keep me busy.

It’ll work.

Plus, the title of the book has my middle name, which is awkward but comforting.

The Master and Margarita. 

 

I’m high.

 

I haven’t been high in a while and this feeling is euphoric. I must capture it.

 

Loud traffic kinda takes ideas out of my head as I’m thinking them. But new ones fill the void.

I need to pee.

I make too many plans.

I’m too everything.

I am nothing.

Life is short and makes no sense and my fingers are numb.

 

Meanwhile, children are being taken away from their families, and I’m detoxing from cigarettes.

 

There is something terribly wrong in this world.

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