Run where you'll be safe.

Where am I? I cannot believe today that my mental state has had any sense of normalcy. Excitement didn't build in my guts when Chris took me too a surprise lunch at Flaming Amy's.
The only conversations I took place in were between myself and me. Only random ideas and thoughts leaked from my mouth.
The feeling of the disconnection between my mind and the outside world has plagued my brain all day.
I have quite possibly found the source of such feelings. I think I get quiet, and I have trouble overcoming that state after I live there for so long.
I can't be too sure though. I can't be too sure of anything.
I can only trust the compromise that forms my thoughts and my instincts. I just have trouble coming to any type of solutions.

Maybe a shower would help? Maybe I can let the shampoo sink through my skull and cleanse my mind.

In all honesty, I don't think there is anything major wrong with me. I wish I could build communication skills. I wish I could interact more with the people who surround me. I wish I could comfortably tell a joke or share an idea without stuttering or getting sweaty palms. I wish I had no reservations about approaching new people and starting conversations. Mostly, I wish I could share my feeling by using my lips, tongue, and voice as opposed to a fucking my hands and keyboard or pen.

Maybe this move to Portland will help me. I'm really counting on this to help me grow.

Tonight, my source of growth will once again be alcohol.

It tore the wiring of my brain; I did my best to keep it clear.

La Dispute reminds me of November.
It's odd because in all honesty, I wasn't very happy at all.
I think it's when I think about the times I was at my lowest, I get nostalgic. Christ, I'm such a masochist.

Fail

A good writer writes every day.

Fuck that.
I'm not a good writer.

I'm just a kid on a futon eating Death Valley Chipotle chips.
I'm just a kid on the verge of a move across the country away from my family and friends.
I'm just a kid with a mild form of social anxiety and lack of communication skills.

But a writer, I am not.