I can't figure out my self lately. Admittedly, I am being a slack-ass by oversleeping which results to missed classes and my deficiency of office hours at the college paper. Of course the know-it-alls would argue that it is, alas, but my depression eating me away like this terrible, black cancer. It is most possibly the inexplicable chemical imbalance in my noggin or my missed 'Z brain vitamin'. It has got to be something. It is improbable that my slacking off is but a mere result of my being over worked and the painful routine of taking 2 hour bus trips home from school each and every single day and vise versa. Chemical: that is the word.

It has been impossibly cold up in my mountain niche. I go around the house wrapped up in my yellow afghan, tiptoeing the kitchen floors in my stockinged feet, munching on ice cubes because I can't help it (thus the shivering of my Clearasil-laced chin). For nearly a month now, I haven't been taking the medically-accepted 8 hour sleep. I would lay propped up on the couch like a sad, troubled child-ghost. I would get knocked off as late as four and had to rise for school at six. I would get emotional and contemplatative over moronic bull like the abortive romances I was involved in when I was sixteen or the fact that I couldn't 'come home' to Raleigh because of the supposedly cruel lie the consul made up and spat at everybody's face. Insane.

Tonight, the coffee trees by the porch are all animated against the morbid winds. My hands are cold. This because of the vicious fog and the reality that I, once again and as I have always dreaded, am caught in this miserable black hole crawling with devils I myself created.