I’m in a terrible mood. I feel too full from dinner. I feel icky, actually. I’m tired. I’m really fucking bored, but I don’t know what to do. I was truly happy last night when I was singing. God, that was so fun. I can hardly wait until next time. I really want to relax, but I can’t relax when I’m home. I just can’t. I always feel the need to get the fuck out of the house, even when I have no where to go. I didn’t get much sleep last night. In fact, I got the worst night sleep ever. I just tossed and turned. I was never comfortable or relaxed.

I feel ill inside and out.

I don’t understand why I give a shit what people think of me. How does my life change if there is someone out there that who disapproves of me, mostly people I will never meet. Why does that bother me? I have friends and family. I have everything I need. God, I feel so much better right now, mentally, at least. My body still feels like crap. I think I’ll go stretch and run.

Hey, something else just occurred to me. Why does The Real World have to be my whole life?? Why? It’s not at all, there is no need for it to be. Why does it have to linger in every other thought? Why does it have to be a part if not the subject of every conversation? Why isn’t it just a fraction of my life, a detail? It’s so big only because I allow it to be. I’ve begun to rely on it as a topic of conversation, and that’s my fault. I have other things to work on, to focus on, to think about than this fucking TV show. Getting in shape is one thing that has kept me feeling better. I think my goal is to read a book a week. This will keep my mind clear from this other shit. There are other things to talk about on earth, there are other thoughts to be had.