I woke up this morning with one eye crusted shut. Smelling the hot air coming from my window. The sun kills me. Eli looks at me and smacks me over the head, I know he's saying "get up Mom." So I look at the clock and it's 630. I try to swallow but my throat is killing me. I think I'm going to quit smoking. After sticking his cork of apple juice in his mouth, I lay down and once again look at my ceiling fan listening to that loud cry of the air conditioner. Am I still here?
9 more days until my birthday and I don't feel any younger. Someone pinch me.
It's only 845 and I can't imagine what this day will bring. Hopefully nothingness. I can drench myself in chills with cold nothingness holding me. I am slipping.
8:40 a.m. - 2003-08-19
Recent entries:
you have arrived at your destination - 2015-09-03
Little Black Book - 2015-08-03
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Quiet riot. - 2014-01-08
Note to self. - 2014-01-02
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