I have been intensely anxious today, but the soothing hand of the internet has been doing its best to help. How did the Little House on the Prairie girls manage to get through all of their troubling times without email reassurances from helpful fellows?

First of all, I don't like jazz. I don't necessarily mean the sound of it, I mean the way the idea of jazz makes me feel. Sort of thirsty and trapped. I can't explain what doesn't make sense. I once broke things off with someone because he was a jazz guitarist and I couldn't get over it. Why would you do that? This is probably the least of my worries, and a piano is not a guitar, but today is this sort of day.

I have an incredible bruise on the inside of my knee, I don't know where from. The knuckles on my right hand feel like the skin's been scraped off, but they look fine. I've started skipping meals so that I'll have more time to sleep. I'll take a vitamin, I'll be in bed by ten, I'll see the dentist on Friday, I'll be fine. I'll be fine. It's really winter now.

Today to ease my frantic head I sent an email to someone I miss, someone I haven't seen in a long time. A short and rambly invitation to a long and rambly night out, and the message I got back was, "IT WOULD BE MY TERRIFIC PLEASURE!!!!" This is my new New Year's resolution, all I need is one great thing to happen per day, so far, so good.

I don't know what I'm getting at.

I want to climb into his empty room, I want to climb into his empty clothes.