I've been avoiding writing a post lately.

I feel depleted.
I feel defeated.

I'm tired. It's seems like every night the tape of my life is rewound and in the morning I repeat the same useless tasks.

A shower in the morning to encourage my eyes open.

I brush my calcium depleted teeth. A few weeks back, I had to have one of my wisdom teeth removed. My gum got infected. I'm festering-tend to get sick once every two weeks lately, it seems.... mostly diarrhea. I drink lots of tea, been trying to lose weight for a while now, but I've given up since it got too cold to carry Lilo out in her sling for a walk up and down the hill to Kensington.

Every morning I scrub my face and examine every pore for whiteheads, trying to exfoliate the exhaustion out of my face. Sometimes I pluck my eyebrows...depends on whether I've set up the alarm or not.

In those moments I catch my face in the mirror and I try to love the person staring back at me.

 I'm not empty like I used to be. Before I would stare in the mirror and have no idea who was staring back at me...but that probably had to do with me being a bit gaga when I was young.

No, I'm not empty, in fact, my chest constantly swells with emotions.

I am angry.

I'm a whirl of barely restrained destruction...and holding it in has taken a lot out of me. Perhaps I should be glad that I've had enough self restraint to not savagely beat anyone in the past five months. What should be noted more than anything, especially by my long time readers is that I have had not the inclination to self destruct.

Or perhaps that's a lie. 
It's not.

It doesn't really matter.

I feel like I'm dying anyways.

I don't paint, I don't knit. I haven't written in a while, I've not worked on my novel. I'm a robot...Right now I'm looping a play list of all my favorite tune, to keep the fire alive, open up a valve for all the bitterness and pain I've been trying to repress for the past fucking months, just to be able to function. Smile. Lift a finger.

And while I remain the sad little lump slumped in the middle of her tiny tiny apartment, Lilo dances and twinkles around me, growing out of my sight.

All this labor for what?
What am I still doing in this hellhole?

Why haven't I fled yet?

Well, I'm waiting for my lease to end so I can cash my security deposit. I'm going to need all the help I can get moving. Not to mention, I'm hoping tax return season would be a bit of a boost. I'm being...responsible. Composed. Calculating. Careful. Slow.

I hate this. I'm inactive. It's too cold outside. I complain, I gripe. I live in my head. I stare out of windows a lot and boy oh boy do I masturbate.

It feels wonderful seeing my fingers dance across the keyboard. It feels like I'm being...productive. I'm so tired my vision is doubling as I type this. But I feel better just saying something.

I cleaned my apartment. I bought some PVC pipes today, to make hula hoops. I got a fifty year old vintage dress to alter. I'm trying not to think about work tomorrow. It's almost two in the morning and I know my brain tries to hang on to the little time that now belongs to me but I think I should close my eyes for now.

If I don't write something down eventually, my brain starts reciting streams of things I think I should write down on this online journal, but I feel lost. Parts of myself seem to shift in and out of focus and the things, and people around me, don't make too much sense...the only thing that seems to wake me up from this fog tends to be precious moments with Lilo and random acts of kindness from the people I cross path with everyday.

I'm...going to sleep now. I'm working tomorrow. Thank god it's only for 9 hours now...I don't give a fuck about the money, I never fucking see it anyways, I just want my freedom back.