this song is called "The anxiety of putting one's affairs in order"

Frankly, sporadic and sparse readers, this diary may be coming to an end, seeing as this writer's life may be coming to an end. I don't know if the drugs can save me.

I wrote out a will and I know it shouldn't matter because I will be dead and maybe I should just let it all flow back up to my parents who have given me so much but I feel like it is a nice fuck you. I've revised it several times before I have it notarized. Right now CB gets the house but there seems to be some injustice in that. I should leave it to my parents. It's too much. I shouldn't leave anything to someone who has willfully abandoned me when I am so clearly in need of not being abandoned. Then again, I may be the pot calling the kettle black.

Tonights night terror featured 101 kinds of seppuku.

There are worse things than feeling worthless, and I think the top of my list is feeling impotent and powerless and out of control. Really screwed the pooch with that one this spring.

I've considered quitting school and quitting the job and just riding out these last few days in sunshine and whatnot but truthfully I'm in no fucking mind space to do that so I may as well trek to Wuhletal and sit there. The light in my room at home and work, darling all night has been flickering off, on, off, on. The sheets grow heavy as a lecher's kiss.

At the end of all this I will take control. This decision will be mine and mine alone.