i am tired beyond belief. last night i got a little less than 7 hours of sleep, and the night before, i had a stomach ache that kept me up most of the night. i’m debating whether or not to bring alcohol to work and drink all day. the only thing that’s stopping me is that i’m scared people will smell it off me. if anyone knows a way to hide the smell of alcohol, please let me know. you will be contributing to a poor girl’s happiness.
that being said, i’m still trying out to figure out my calling, my purpose. i’ve prayed. i’ve read books. i’ve searched around. i’ve applied and done interviews to no avail. it feels like i have no destiny.
it’d be easy for me to become an alcoholic or a drug addict. i commiserate with my fellow drug addicts, and alcoholics. with suicidal and chronically depressed people. i sympathize with them now more than ever. if i grew up bad, with no one who loved me, i’d be a drug addict, an alcoholic and much more suicidal.
i remember reading the biography of edgar allen poe, and how he was found dead in the street, apparently dying from depression. literally, it was alcohol and neglect that killed him. i always wondered how someone so talented could be so sad. i’m not nearly as talented as he was, but finally i understand.
J’aime bien parler et m’expresser en francais, meme si ce n’est pas ma langue maternal, et puis, je ne peux pas parler tres bien en francais. j’aime bien ce langue, autant qu’anglais. Je veux avoir des amis francais, simplement pour parler avec eux. Le francais represent ma vie secrete, mes pensees intimes que personne sait. Aucun personne que je connais, sauf une ami, peut comprendre francais. Et encore plus, elle ne peut pas comprendre autant que moi..
