Self-Pity.

I don't know what to do.

I just feel completely numbed out. I probably look shell-shocked. Eyes wide and barely focused, mouth hanging open slightly, my voice barely above a whisper, with the occasional tear still running down my cheek independant of my thoughts.

I don't give a fuck anymore.

I don't know how I'm going to get up tomorrow morning. Or the morning after that. Or how I keep getting up day after day. Work. Smoke. Work. Fuck. Work. Smoke. Sleep. Wake up. And start over.

I know that this is melodramatic. Those who agree, please read the third paragraph down from the top of this entry again.

I don't want to get stoned and make it go away. I don't care enough to want to make it go away. I just want to curl up into the fetal position and stay there.

Half an hour ago I hated Kellin. All I wanted was for him to think about something other than weed for a change. All I wanted was for him to be there when I got off work. To see a friendly face. His friendly face. But I don't want a big deal to be made over me. I want things simple. Everything has a price. Now he's saying he'll try and get out here... but at the price of Adam bitching to everybody about me. At the price of him trying to find gas money, or being resentful because I cut his evening short, or whatever.

WHATEVER.

I'm not worth it. It's not worth it. But I don't want to call back again. Why not? I don't know. So I won't be an even bigger bother. So that I don't have to face the chance of speaking to Adam again. Because I just don't care enough to.

My feet hurt. Maybe I should take off the rollerblades. I'm cold. Maybe I should put on a sweater or something. Maybe I don't care enough to. Maybe the part of my brain that's a writer just relishes the idea of him rushing to the rescue to find me in such poor condition.

There are no sharp objects nearby. Probably a good thing.

Ten oclock. Why does it feel like it's so much earlier? Maybe because I worked so long already today that it feels like it's never going to end. It's getting dark, I think. I can kinda see outside. I don't want it to get dark. I don't know why.

The moon is full tonight. Maybe that's part of why I feel so horrible.

Let me predict the present. Kellin's driving around. Laughing, smoking the 20 bag he bought with the 20 dollars he managed to get out. Out of the corner of his mind he's worried about me, but he's not sure what to do. Adam is whispering bull into his ear, until he sees that he can benefit, which is when he switches tacks and plays along to Kellin's emotions while attempting to manipulate the situation to his own benefit.

I could hate him.

But... I don't. He's a sad and pathetic little man.

Why am I wasting space talking about him?

Why am I wasting space talking?

Why am I wasting space?

And here comes the phone call... he can't find a way out here. He'll call me back after he smokes a joint. He tried to find a way out here despite his mom wanting to take him somewhere or do something (maybe take him to the doctor since he's apparently puking up blood?), because I said the time we spoke that started all of this that I wanted to kill myself. No drama there. No joking. I probably won't. But I'd like to. Not so that people will notice me or pay attention to me or feel sorry for me... just because I simply can't take it anymore. I can't do this anymore.