21.4.2000

I'm back. Ugh.
The house smells unused which is nice, it's +20 fucking degrees outside (which is Warm, here) and I have a bag full of chocolate. I think I'd like to go to sleep now.

No, really. It's very summer-like, the air smells like that, there's bugs and dust everywhere and the warmth makes me choke in cars. All summer-like things. I wrote some stuff which I probably should upload because I'd like to, but I'm such an utter bore that… well, I'd like to avoid annoying anyone. But should I really care? No. So that's fine. I'm just so tired I don't know if I'll be able to do anything productive tonight.

I'm late of my reading schedule, as always, and I probably have tons of diary entries to read on-line (so I doubt I'll read most of them).

I love m&m's. I could eat gazillions of them, probably. But I shouldn't, of course. I wish it'd rain, actually.
I don't know what to do now. I have too much free-time. I'd like to go on-line but…
Ugh.

Should stop babbling. I'm boring myself.
I used to have a friend who read books at same time as she talked to my other friend A.N. It was wicked, imho, because A.N. really was a boring person to talk on the phone to. It didn't mean she didn't listen what A.N. talked about but instead did both things at the same time. I picked up that habit later one and it was very useful. I never got that bored with A.N.'s stories after that. The arrangement served us both very well, I listened but didn't get bored and she could talk as much as she could. Neither of us minded.
I once made A cry because I played some computer game at the same time when I talked to her on the phone. Yeah, it was pretty impolite but I figured then that it'd be better than hanging up on her. Ugh. She was always so upset when I didn't want to talk to her that I thought I could pull off one phone-call. After that I could smash things, if needed. Anyway, she started crying and I had to be all comforting although I felt like, well, you know. After that incident I decided it was much much better to tell her that I didn't want to talk to her instead of trying to bear it.
I don't even have a proper tetris and I can play the highest level my eyes closed. So duh.

---

So I painted a bit. So I don't want to go on-line. I'm lonely and scared, for some reason. I don't feel like writing anything, like drawing anything for my page. Partly I feel like reading the diary entires, partly I'm afraid of it. I'm not sure why. Perhaps because I'm afraid of the change, the time that has passed. I'm afraid of everything, again.
I wish I could go on and know that there would be someone who would want me back, someone who'd welcome me back. I'm hardly ever lonely like this. It must be because I've had so much to do with real-life lately.
Useless.

--- -- --

Even if it's the first day, there's always the end in front of us, waiting patiently because it knows it's time will come. I have a belief that death is beautiful, peaceful, everything I want it to be.
It doesn't seem possible that there would be something else, some kind of heaven or hell.
I'm weary, exhausted and I wish I could stop breathing right now. So that there didn't have to be another day after this one and another and another. I want to let go but I can't. I can't make myself die by just willing to do so. I tried it when I was younger, I refused to believe it was impossible. I tried to stop breathing, I tried to just slip away. But I was quite young then. I used to run around holding my breath a lot. I had to run, you see. It hurt too much to stay put. I was never able to pass out. I thought my lugns would burst more than once but I never passed out.

I wasn't thinking much about death during my trip. I thought I would but I didn't. To my surprise I didn't mind being awake, alive. It was nice. It didn't hurt to breathe very much.

Now I'd like to die. Traveling brings the necessary distraction, I forgot all about that. But now I'm here again and there's no escape. Especially not today when I'm so tired I can hardly breathe.

I mean, it really is difficult to breathe. It's difficult to exist. Every time I breathe out I feel like collapsing, all strength is gone from my body. I feel too tired to inhale again but somehow I always manage. This is why I thought I could just make myself die. If I'm this exhausted already, it shouldn't be too much trouble to stop breathing althogether. But it is. Too much.
One could argue that this is strictly physical and I should get myself checked out. But I'd rather be this way. It's easier to consider death a possible option this way. Otherwise it'd feel too much like a dream that doesn't exist outside my head. I used to feel like it was impossible to die at some point. I just kept being alive. I still am alive, my body refuses to die. It feels like death was an illusion, something too good to be true. Perhaps it is, I don't know.

Sleeping never helps a thing.
I wish I could just get away. Get away and never come back.

I'm depressed like that.
Ugh.

Index.