Stupid and wallowing. I've been reading a lot this summer, and writing, and thinking in general. Sadly, I've been lax in my art making escapade. I'm not inspired and when I do sit down to draw I get a few lines and become frustrated at the results. Back in the rut. You'd think I would be a little more insightful towards my own life after reading something like "Atlas Shrugged" by Ayn Rand or "Cat On a Hot Tin Roof" by Tennessee Williams. Nope, I'm still inclined to wallow and write sad or angry things in my personal journal (the one with ink and paper).

I've been seeing a counselor lately to try to learn to cope with my life better, it's moderately helping... sometimes. I have very up days or moderate days, nothing too horrible. It's like once a week or month when I get really down, always when I start looking to the past. I suppose that's bad if I only get sad when I think about the past.

I read "Catcher in the Rye". I'm of a mixed opinion on it. The story was pretty mediocre, it sounded pretty dramatic without the usual insight into such matters. The language, which is of a teen, is still pretty dull and awkward. Hooray for the hopefulness caused by this book, at the expense of proper English and higher functions.

I'm pretty much broke. Working at Wal-mart, fuck that place. Saying I work Wal-mart is really all that I should say, it speaks pretty much for itself, hah. I've been chain smoking for the past three... months. I really should cut back, but every time I try I realize just how much I want to smoke. I'm pretty violent when deprived of nicotine.

Living alone with two kittens. They're cute as hell, but god damn do they get into and destroy everything they get their paws on. I'm slowly slipping farther and farther from regular contact with other sentients and it scares me to some extent. We're social creatures and I am owner to an extreme case of separation anxiety.

The time is 4:13 in the A.M. and I'm still wide awake.