What if my own flesh is suburban sprawl?
I AM BURSTING AT THE SEAMS.
I have like bajillion things going on all the time at any given moment in my life. Class Monday through Thursday. Work Thursday through Sunday. I haven't had a chance to really live at all, not even a little, between the two. No more Michael. I feel like I'm all of a sudden wearing big-boy pants. Apparently at the expense of being fun. My roommates are always off galavanting about when I get home from work, and they drink late into the night. I've been going to bed early, and I hate it. They laugh in the living room and I wish I was out there with them, but my health has always mattered more to me. I'm well aware that I'm going to be obscenely boring this semester, but at least now I have an excuse to be a recluse.
I am far to incompetent to be getting away with all the shit that I am doing in my life right now. I'm worried that someone is going to catch on soon.
I need to take more pictures. All the time. I feel like it's the only way I've been effectively dispersing all my nervous energy lately. Seriously. But it's working. I can't draw except to write things. It's hardly working at all. But I can't fuck up with a camera. I know how it works; it's steady.