Bubbles.

Every time I see a face I want to punch it. A shot between the eyes, knock 'em dead, perfect. Every time someone opens their mouth to spew out absentminded advice to soothe my momentary frustration, I want to stick my foot in it. Shut them up, knock out a few teeth, perfect.

The one person that I relied on in Fort Erie lied to me about everything.

EVERYTHING.

And it's brutal 'cause he was seeping into my brain, making me think that I was fucked and that I may possibly have some sort of masochistic-bad-decision-making-glitch in my head and I'm sure he's right about that partially, but even if he was it doesn't make a difference now because he LIED ABOUT EVERYTHING.
I trusted him and everytime I think, 'Well, he was concerned for my well being, I stumble into another new lie and it just fucking stings. I don't understand how someone could be selfrighteous enough to fuck with my life so badly. And unfortunately, that's all I can say about the whole situation 'cause everytime I open my mouth to attempt to understand why he's doing what he's doing, he goes and tells and a whole new mess explodes in my face.

I hate him.

A couple months ago Andrew gave me stackers to help me stay awake at work. I'll never take them again 'cause the whole night I felt like I was drifting on a fucking bubble. I was awake but I don't remember the night, or what I did, or how I felt - Just floating on a bubble.
Oddly enough, I feel the same way now. I just feel like I'm floating through life. I realise that things are happening around me, but there's no connection to them. Just the funny breeze of indecision and stress blowing through my hair.

My Illustration Prof. died last week. I found out yesterday.
I'm not grieving because I don't know how to. I just see his face in my head and think about his funny voice and I feel strange. I'll never see him again and that startles me because he was so young and he never should have died.

Not yet anyway.