4:43 p. m. » The Grass Is Dead. The Gold Is Brown.

A friend told me that he'd no longer consider himself so if I were to pursue a specific female who'd expressed an amount of interest in me. This girl, on probation for battering an ex-boyfriend, several days later punched this friend in the nose and later fell down the stairs. Her persistently trying to seduce me was flattery. Sadly for her, I was convinced that denying her that was at least twice as amusing as actually entertaining that which she sought -- not that it, itself was anything but a shadow and a thought*. I've taken up the drinking of red wine -- not because I'm depressed (Christ knows there's nothing depressing here), but because it makes the pain of that with which I've decided to surround myself such an easier experience to endure. This is costing me my soul. Everyday I awake with a new scratch, bruise, pain, bleed, or scrape. It's the temporary life I've always dreamt of leading.

*Total ROTK cred.