Je passerai une nuit blanche. Et un jour, aussi.

[evilbeej]

I should be writing my resume. I begged off of roleplay until it was finished, and I'm farting around not writing it. Instead, I'm editing old logs and editing old how-to articles and writing bad mood-poetry and making halfassed critiques of old-people radio on my shortwave. I'm desperately trying not to think about Iraq, because it's gonna make me sick. I'm feeling horrible about not calling Mike, now I've been back for over a week, but I don't even have money for gas to go to the diner. I want to go to NYC with him, he invited me to. But I can't get out of my rut until I get a job, and I can't get a job until I write a resume, and I can't write a resume until I quit thinking about not thinking about Iraq, and about where my friend Dan is right now. And, God, where Tom Rath might be. Peter said that last time he knew, Tom'd gone to Alabama for basic training. That kid makes me worry like all fuck, and he barely knows me, it takes him a second to recognise me whenever he sees me and it's probably because he's fried his brains with all kinds of shit. I always get this way. I let people slip away and then I panic because I've let them slip away.