I keep psychoanalyzing myself trying to identify the sources of my problem, or if I even have one at all.

all I know is that I usually go into each day only anxious for it to end, because I'm happier when I'm asleep, and hey, who knows, maybe one of these days I'll get lucky, all of that Advil and those myspace curses will catch up to me, and I'll get liver failure and not wake up. I can only hope.

see. That's not a way to live.
and I think that everyday. also something to change. or something. hm. This lost its point. nexttime, I'll try for something meaningful and lyrical and metaphorical, so you can't really immidiately tell that I'm just writing about the same things over and over: my neurosis and my depression and anxiety and shit.