Writing this on a Saturday. An unusually emotional one at that. Usually, as of late, I find myself to be a very skilled non giver of fucks. Like I literally just don’t give a shit about fuck, and it’s great. Tonight, everything feels so out of wack. I stole a cigarette from my roommates pack sitting on the fridge, not typical of me, took two solid drags, again not typical of me, and I’ve been buzzed to all hell with a gnarly stomach ache for the past 30 minutes wondering what the fuck am I doing with my life. I spend all my weekends alone. In my room. With one sole criteria for success: spend the least amount of money possible. And I mean to be fair, this works extremely well for satisfying myself most of the time. And I think I’ll keep it up. But every now and again, I become starkly aware of how I’ve never really fit in with other people, and even though I usually don’t care to, it makes me sad. It brings about some kind of anxiety, that maybe one day, this inner peace that I have been blessed with will just be completely out of reach. And I will be left like a newborn baby stranded in the woods, flailing my arms helplessly, hoping for some kind of relief from the pain. Just left by god to suffer, for misinterpreting his truths in some way