Riding in the laughter, hold her hair and die. Her teeth have some sort of shine, while all you do is cry.

A long time ago I was drinking a glass of water and I noticed it was scratching the back of my throat. I immediately thought to grab another glass, except that would have been silly. I've noticed that when I don't write in my journal, life seems to become more boring. I don't notice the little things, like the sunflower growing through a crack in the road, proving that life manages to find a way. Maybe it was horrible smoking habit. The scratch in the back of my throat I mean.

A long time ago I went to Berkeley to purchase some music. I was never a fan of Hippies, but Telegraph always interested me. Sometimes I'll give money to the local girl on the street to buy a beer, and in turn, she'll buy me cigarettes. I'd always like to offer her one; it's just that she's always afraid she'll be charged with a felony. I'm sure jail would be better than the streets, since they provide food and all, but then again, I'm pretty sure it isn't. Anyway, there was this girl standing outside the record store looking very pretty and giving me the old eye. I wish I had spoken to her because I was honestly very attracted to her. She seems like the type of girl that I'll call every time I light a cigarette and feel lonely. I really don't have anyone like that to be honest with you.

A few hours later, and here I am. I've tried writing something meaningful, but I never really could. Not with those apathetic drugs. This girl Laura asked me to quit smoking, because it seemed like I've become less and less lively. So I did. I went outside and had my last Marlboro. I threw away all my cigarettes, and I felt some kind of closure. I'm listening to Interpol, and it seems to make me realize who I am. I'm not an evened out person. I never have been. Sure, cigarettes helped me not feel depressed, but they made me feel unhappy. It was strange because I could hear my dad coughing while I was smoking and feeling infinite. Tomorrow is going to be a better day.

I'm starting to see my future, and you know what? It looks awesome. I saw myself taking wonderful photos, holding her hand across the Golden Gate Bridge, and knowing everything was going to be fine. I saw myself singing and playing music that I love. I saw myself happy again. And you know, I'm starting to seriously not give a fuck about being unhappy, because that is what people are. We are unhappy, and we are happy. This girl named Heidi said I would make a great teacher. I've got to start reading the books Mister Rice gives to me. I think wet hair is prettier than ugly uncombed hair. I think I'm ready for a hair cut.

I donated blood today which was nice. I wanted to circle yes when the survey asked me if I had sex for money within the past 12 months. As if it were okay if it were before then. STD's should be introduced to the blood bank. Pandemonium is what we'd have. The lady who helped me out kept on calling me honey, and kept asking if I felt all right. I started laughing hysterically in my head when I felt light headed. Everything became blurry because the blood wasn't going to my head. She said my lips looked purple, and smiled when she said I was starting to look normal again, as if she knew me for a long time.

I had this dream a few nights or weeks ago where my mother and I were in Hawaii for some reason. And my car was there too. Anyway, my mom had apparently sent my car to go get groceries using cruise control. And I got really pissed off at her because I told her that that wasn't how cruise control worked. So we ended up driving around Hawaii looking for my poor car, and we eventually found it in an auto yard, looking depressed and lonely. It made me want to learn how to ride the unicycle, like the demoiselle who used to smile at me while holding her balance stick.

I don't really know what else to say, except that I'm back.

cya.

-george