I should be going upstairs and making myself pretty because my friends will be here (who knows when)?

Well, I can't tell you what I'mf eeling, I can tell you this -- it creeps in again. These feeling...whatever it is, this melancholy that was haunting me yesterday. Not that I mind it. I mind it that I'm a ghost to people, and I mind that I desire to be pure -- because life is so much easier to live when you can live it drunken, with a cigarette or other things between your lips; not that I do; my point is clear -- I mind that I stopped caring. I am not going to be beautiful and fun to be around if I am a ghost -- unless (there is only one way out of this situation) unless I transform myself...purge the part of me that is still beautiful, even if throbbing in its last breath: I mean the misery. The beautiful misery that exists inside someone who secretly becomes depressed.

Oh, and I hate it. I'd like to pretend I never face the darkness...I'd like to pretend that I don't need to Prozac to keep the tears from flowing freely -- when I first began neurontin, it pissed me off that the world could take away my high and leaving me dry...that I could take the top out, and be left with the bottom dropping endlessly. But I never wanted medicine for it. I mean, of course I eventually wanted medicine, because I didn't want to cry or avoid the world either for days at a time. Granted, I don't get sad too often -- well, maybe I do...in fact, maybe I even get severely sad, I don't know, all I know is that it never lasts but a couple times, and I can stay manic for weeks. Usually would. delusional and grandiose even normally -- these ingrained quirks are part of her gift to me.

everything's a her, huh.

well, what do i do? i remind myself the way loving the world feels.

you can't run into magic in the world, or beautiful things, because it is like trying to run into water when you're swimming; it is everywhere.

I really need to get dressed, though, before I can finish this.

I feel ugly tonight.