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2004-02-05 | 2:20 a.m.

Shitty day. Shitty week, really, but who's counting. Have been wanting to write all week but I've had to get my paperwork done for Valerie again. I ended up missing my appointment, scheduled for Tuesday afternoon, though I did call. Except I said I'd call back (was crying) and I didn't. Because yuck, and besides, I didn't get the paperwork done until two minutes ago. And there are still little things to polish here and there.

I am getting to the point where I don't really give a shit if Valerie hates me. Don't care who hates me. My friend Gaby was over today because I had filled in for her babysitter and she was picking up her son. She wants me to get my house together and she said, very seriously, "I don't know if I can come to this house anymore." She meant because the chaos gets to her, makes her nervous, makes her want to start putting things away. In her head, she's trying to put everything away. She can't help herself. I understand, I think I do, but at the same time some part of me just went cold and thought, "Okay, well, it's been nice knowing you."

Some people say that's depression, when you just don't care, but to me it feels like freedom. All I know is, I'm sitting there in front of a recalcitrant computer trying to finish this bullshit paperwork that no one will ever read and my inner voice is muttering and yelping I want to kill myself! I want to die! When that starts happening, I feel strongly that it's time to take a step back. No, I'm not going to kill myself over a bunch of paperwork. I'm not even comfortable with my subconscious talking hara-kiri, which is why I'm willing to take substantial risks (such as blowing off Valerie, or quitting the charter school) to preserve my peace of mind. I'd walk away from everything I have if it were the only way to preserve my sanity. That sounds overblown and dramatic, but that's where I'm at. Dig in my heels and piss on 'em all. I used to think it was just the opposite: I'd flush myself down the drain for true love, etc.

Anyway. Boring. It's three a.m.

Before I go, the high point of my day today was hearing Frank describe what he's been going through trying to edit Fiona's academic writing for publication. It's like, "Holy shit, who tied these shoes?"

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