09.17.01 - 5:16 p.m.

I guess I should write. I have nothing to say. The world goes on, the world is unhappy and I am still frustrated and unhappy with myself. I will never be able to think outside my little box. Though it would be an orange box or something just so I could be sure it was mine.

Now I'm going home on Wednesday, just in time to pack things up so I can have a few more tasty and horribly annoying meals with the Bumble Twins and then drive back to the City of Boredom, and then what? I have no idea. No job, no home. Only Johnstown awaits me now. And I'm sitting in a strange newsroom in the middle of a New Jersey strip mall while Dan writes his story and there's a card on the wall that says "Rude Awakening #457: Nobody really cares what your G.P.A. does." And it's true.

I feel more comfortable, safer, sitting with the old people than the high school students at the football games. I can't remember all the words to the GS fight song - just "Roar, Lions, roar, power on to victory," and "Hurrah for Lions, strong and bold, all hail the brown and gold." But I still dress like a student and act like a twelve-year-old and at this point would rather waitress than try and find a respectable job because it just seems easier. I am a nonentity, a shell of a person walking around trying to believe that everything's fine when it's not and I've been sleeping on a couch for two weeks with nothing to show for it and it seems like everyone else has their fucking act together and not me and I just don't know what I could possibly be doing any better.

And I think it scares Dan when I start to cry for no apparent reason, and it would scare me too, except I know I do it all the time and I just cry for nothing and it makes me feel better for a little while.