Right now I'm a lot more stable than I have been in a very long time. But at the same time, my whole stability revolves around the hope that I will find someone to renew my prescription for Prozac. I can't be truly happy...but maybe no one ever is. I just want to figure out something for me to do for a few years...I don't dare to say for the rest of my life. I don't even know how long that might be. I suck in my cheeks and suck in my tummy and prepare to face the world. I'm still short and chubby. I still feel like I did when I was 12, only with a tad bit more sense. Not too much though. I love the way my fingers are dancing over the keys tonight...I could only wish for my brain to keep coming up with thoughts to match their movements. I don't want to break their rhythm. My favorite songs are all scratched to bits on my cds, so I'm forced to listen to all the leftovers that I really don't like all that much, cause the CD player on this piece of crap is sensitive to the very idea of a scratch being there. I'm freezing to death here. I guess it's too hard to try and come back home after you've really been gone away. I have a friend who is hurting herself here and I can't help her. I have friends who are horsesick, lovesick, just plain sick and maybe even a little mentally derranged. I known some very antisocial people, and from time to time I can claim to be one of them. I dream at night of simple improvements to my life. I see hidden doors to bathtubs that fill with hot vanilla-scented bubbles, and let me lay back, sunk in steaming foam up to my neck. I see ancient washing machines just begging me to use them instead of washing my work aprons in the kitchen sink. I see a giant kitchen full of dishes and towels that put our own dingy rags to shame. Why are all my dreams filled with domestic bliss? I guess I want nothing more than a happy home..and the ability to screw off for the rest of my wretched little life. I see things that need to be done, but i have no ability to complete any of them. I don't want my life to become an unfinished mess, but the signs are all there of it heading in that direction. I want some very basic things. I want the straps on my red tank top to magically fix. I want me to magically fit back into those old jeans I've had since I was 16 and have only recently swelled out of. I want to be back on the sand at sunset walking up and down behind all the hotels. I want my Teenage Slut Kitty back, and my Vine St. Apartment by myself. I want my warm weather, my freedom, and my Dairy Queen back. I hate Kentucky in the winter. It's too much like the north for a couple of months. I moved down there to escape all forms of frozen wet stuff. It didnt' happen. I can't think of anything else that's clogging up my mind right now... I need to go to sleep and try to work things out among myself. To be continued as needed... Annie