I never like to eat much, but I’ve got this endless hunger, a screaming appetite for being sad, wasting time. I think my biggest fear is I’m not quite sad enough to write anything good. So I wait patiently for some terrible thing to finally leave me crumbling. What I think I need and what I know I need are two separate things. I’m in this weird place now in my life, too old to think I’m too young to be satisfied. Never happy to just be fucking happy. I spent the night looking through old pictures. I found some of when I was miserable and taped them to the wall.