Well, that's something I haven't done in a long time: just grabbed whatever clothes my hands found first and put them on. Man, do I not care what I look like today. Who do I have to impress?

Emily wrote this diary entry about how she's unhappy living here, and she expected people to be friendlier, and I've been so distant. And she's right. Why do I always seem to approach everything from the wrong angle with her? What, did I think that just because I'd lived with one ex before, living with another would be a piece of cake? As if Jeff and I never had any problems living together. I've gotten caught up in my own personal mythology, and that's a dangerous mistake to make.

I don't know what else I have to say. I'm angry at myself. I didn't have the guts to bring this up with her earlier. Whenever she seemed remotely uncomfortable in any situation, I've pretty much just walked away because I'm afraid of being intrusive.

Maybe intrusive is better than cold. Sometimes, at least.

I really didn't want to get out of the shower this morning. Wouldn't it be nice to just stand there under the hot spray and not have to face things? Anything. Work, people, transportation, food. The fucking scale that never goes below 155 anymore. (My housemates and I all have a theory that the scale is wrong, but what difference does that make, really? It's right in relative terms. More is more and less is less.)

Oh, God. I want to cry and I can't. So I won't. I'll grab a book and put on my shoes and I'll just go. Go run errands and get coffee and go to work. And I'll play music and some of it will be really good and some of it will be mandatory and mediocre. Maybe Curtis will email me from work. Maybe Courtenay will be in a good mood. Maybe something nice will happen.

Poop. Some days I really just don't like this world.