incorect

sometimes writing only makes me feel redundant... surely i've felt this before, surely it's been written before, surely i'm only encouraging my own self-indulgent cliche. i must not & can not drag myself back into this abyss, i will not blame you again. there are remedies for this torture, i've met them before, i need only shake the dust a little... except i cannot find them, i didn't think i would need them & never made a map. work work work, i will work every day & make money meaningless. health is a novelty my body hates me. ..for lack of sleep, for acheyness. jayson needs to get better and take me to central park so we can eat ice cream together or something. he needs to be ok and out of the fucking hospital with all of his organs working properly. i'm all itchy with sadness... and vicodin. i think i need to get out of the house and get my mind off things. pool boy, another vodka tonic; i'm feeling again.