I have a wicked new haircut and I'm wearing my big ol' sunglasses even though it's cloudy as hell. I want to write. I want to shatter into a billion pieces and reflect the sunlight exuberantly. But then again, I don't. I just can't get back in the ol' habit of things. My cat bit me. Darned thing didn't mean to, it was my fault. Imagine a bite that goes right to the bone. It's like that but like a smidgen away from the bone. I swear it. And it's all swollen to hell now. I'm lucky it's not on my right hand otherwise my writing would be damned, for sure. Well, not for sure, I'd make out, somehow. It isn't even all bruised and purple like I thought. The only fun of injuries is that they turn all colours and you get to boast about 'em to all your buddies...but no, mine just puffed up like a fish and has these little snakebite holes. What a joke. I woke up real early though this morning, so I'm figuring on sleeping early tonight. I need to pack tomorrow. Hell, I'm all out of sorts. And I can't write. What good is going to a writing camp if I can't write worth nothing? And my best friend has disappeared off the face of the the Earth. Again, my fault. I haven't been online or nothing. I've been busy getting my life into knots and working hellishly and trying to be a good sport about visiting the ol' relatives. I do like visiting 'em, don't get me wrong, but I do wish they'd do it at a more convienent time. I suppose that's my mother's fault though. Well, not her fault..but with all the working she's doing she doesn't have a moment left to help me out. I don't know what's gotten into me all of the sudden. I feel all pangy and tired and sad. Sadder than the blanketed sky, I swear it. Even my cute little haircut makes me feel all down. Maybe it's because I'm reading depressing books or because I woke up so early or because I'm leaving for a week and I'll be all alone. All by myself. I don't know any of 'em. Not yet, anyhow. And I don't even know if they have a goddamn working shower. Hell. I am the infinite screwball of this century. I swear it. But damnit, I swear it's all an act. I swear it. Everytime I read a goddamn book or watch a goddamn movie I end up acting all like that character or thinking like I think they would think. For example, I watched a movie about Helen Keller when I was younger and afterwards I walked around like I was blind all feeling the walls and everything. That's like now. I finished this classic, Catcher in the Rye, and I don't even get the meaning of the goddamn book but look here, I'm talking like the sonofabitch. 'cept he always said it sunovabitch or something that ways. Holy hell, would you look at it? My post is taking over the whole goddamn blog. What a thing, eh? I don't want to leave you guys with a long big depressed post. God, I hope my writing strikes up before sunday. Something something...I don't know. I'm much too drowned out, as it is anyway. G'night.