apparently

I don't actually sleep anymore, i just fall drunkenly into bed at the appropriate hour and mostly roll and curl myself into different positions, dreaming intermittently.

I wish I could afford to get the hell out of town for awhile. I will go to a different city and meet someone without hang-ups. Someone who will take my hand and say, "All that other shit and those people you know? I don't care, I like you, let's have fun." We will have fun. The person will, late at night when there's smoke crowding the lamp-light, tell me something about myself that is true and something I have not already presumed or heard. The person will have the most beautiful point where jaw, ear, and neck intersect, and will tuck my nose there as we sleep.

There is no money for such trips, though they are imaginary ones. I feel i am always working, and there may be no person I trust not to quickly bore or hurt me; I haven't been out of lincoln over-night in over a year. After I typed that sentence I wanted to cry, but instead i will drink some water. Yes, this is complaining.

Normally at this time of year I'm making lists and anticipating winter break. Now I spend nights trying to plan out my life in long, obsessive thought patterns as I lay in bed. I see my friends languishing. There is so much languishing.