I dreamt we were back together. Actually, I dreamt we broke up, then got back together, which I think was worse, because it was like some alternate ending where things were... nice. Just when I thought falling to sleep couldn't be any worse...
This weekend wasn't bad. I still can't believe I'm in a situation now where I want to go home, after despising the very notion for so long. I don't know... life just seems fairly fucked over right now. When notions of suicide used to often cross into my mind, it was never the usual spiteful, revenge filled motivation. You know, the "I'll show them" scenario, akin to running away when you're a little kid to show them how worse off they are without you. Usually it was a boredom or dissatisfaction with life, and the logic that it really won't ever get too much better. I still hold to that idea, sometimes, but also, the spiteful notion is crossing my mind now. I figure if that's rearing its ugly head, something must really be wrong. Oh, and for those unfamiliar with me, thinking about suicide is my business; doing it is just a dream.
If you can't tell, I'm slightly bummed. But, in brighter news, the Brian Jonestown Massacre plays in Gainesville on the 7th of October. I need to go. But I probably won't.
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