Something.

It's hard for me to write!

I don't want to.

I feel like I don't have the energy in me to write again. I feel like it doesnt' do for me what it used to. But than again I haven't tried to really write in a long time. Quick a theory while the feeling lasts. Motivation is positively correlated to the duration we feel certain emotions.

God damnit. I've seriously got some problems I can't kick. I'm addicted to masturbating. I'm addicted to smoking weed.

Hm, Is it really an addiction if it is justified? I've been depressed so long; the feeling of an orgasm and smoking weed seems to keep me at the level of happiness that I used to feel. God. It's been so long that I've been searching for that feeling. I can't remember what I even did in those times anymore. But let me just remind myself and everyone for the reasons of defense mechanisms, that, that life won't be permanent.

Ember is still down south in florida.

She told me more about this guy and how he's crazy. Schizophrenic crazy maybe. His daughter is a drugged up walking clot of dirt who roams the streets. His son doesn't care about anything has no ambition for life. He can't take knowing that Ember speaks to me. They get into huge arguments him and her until it settles. I'm not quite sure how that ends up with her in the house still. Maybe because the Crazy guy's love for her kicks in and he tells himself he can't be mad at her.

sMOKE SMoKE SMOKe

it's 4. I just ate breakfast. I feel like a stain of scum on the wall that hadn't been attended to in over a decade. I feel like the filth in this apartment will slowly take me down with it.

I miss Ember.

I miss that short time we had.