I'm still unbelievably depressed. Most of me really wants to die. I have had two full boxes of kraft mac and cheese and I've watched multiple seasons of frasier.
all these beautiful women want to fuck frasier, but man. i'd fuck marty in a heartbeat. he's charming as fuck.
my job is ending. i was bad at it. sucks to be bad at your job. i hate it. i hate going into work every day knowing i'm going to fuck it up, i hate leaving a job knowing everyone resents me. i know they all think i'm a lazy punk loser, and they're right. i've had jobs that i was good at, man. that ruled. it was fun to be good at work and improve at it. i liked that camera gig. i liked being a script supervisor. i hate journalism. i hate comms. i hate non-proifts. but now there's nothing. nothing in my life. it feels like everything is coming to an end and i wish it would just hurry up already. so sick of being an asshole. so sick of being incompetent.
i guess my girlfriend loves me. i'll hurt her. i always do. that's what i do. she does, though. she loves me a lot. she's my lifeline right now. if it weren't for her, i might be dead already.
suicidal

Unspeakably depressed. We're unpacked now, and we're doing what we're ostensibly supposed to be doing. Job hunting, being social, attempting to make friends. I'm wrapping up my days at my old job, the one I wanted to leave so badly, because it was too safe, too tied to The Old House.
We caught a punk show at Lucky's in Tukwila. Good bill all around, best set belonged to Ponty's Revenge. Went dancing the night after. I felt nothing other than anxiety. I don't know who I am here.
I wanted to be a filmmaker, and I guess I'm still pursuing that, but I don't know. I think time has passed me by. Maybe I'll try new meds. Maybe something will change on tour. Maybe I'll turn 30 and things won't matter the way they used to. Go 'way from my window, babe. Go at your own chosen speed. I'm not the one you wanted, everything inside me is stone.
Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma on thursday, possibly drinks with some queer lefty people we met a little while back. Jane Schoenbrun movies make me sad, they make me think about my potential. Whether I had it and wasted it, or if there was none to begin with.
I'm on The Coast now, but I still seem to be consumed with petty grudges and failures from The Old Country. I want to change my hair, my clothes, my face. I want to burn my memories. I want to do the impossible. I want to do something different, be someone different, be anyone else. The American Dream. Christ. (ejaculation, indicating exasperation, perhaps indicative of a need for forgiveness, a desire for resurrection)

Ok, so I'm trying to teach myself HTML, I'm trying to restart my discord server, I'm unpacking following my move to The Coast, and I'm hoping to be writing music and at least finding a way to put up my old poems on this site. What else? currently writing this on the toilet. Oh, I'm going to treat this place as my new notebook for my artists way pages. still not quite sure how that will work, but we'll see. I'm two sections deep into the tutorial, I know I'm probably cluttering up the code on the site with bullshit I'll never fix, but oh well. I just need something like this, I think. Social media, but the kind that I can't self-destruct so easily on. We'll see how it goes.
Why do I need this? Why am I so involved? What makes me so pathologically desparate to be seen, as if being seen is something desirable or even really possible? I couldn't say.I wonder if C has any insight after spending a month with my family. Anyway, that's enough for today, diary-wise at least.