Things get easier and things get harder again. I write flash fictions about tea. I write flash fictions about alcohol. I eat dinner outside and listen to boys that remind me why I don't like boys like that. (Are you going to ask her out? Oh hell no, I'll sleep with her, but I wouldn't date her. If he thinks she's not cute either she's really hot or really ugly. We were lying in bed and she was mad at me so I jumped on top of her and said "What did you say?") I wonder what I am going to do for the entire evening. I think about how I haven't wondered that in months. I think about calling people to find something to do and don't know who to call. I think about writing. My stomach hurts. I should go to the gym. The only time I care so much about how my body looks is when I have been snubbed and then I try my hardest to look really good. It makes no difference and I always end up eaitng too much when I feel poorly.