I work. And I think about work, and I freak out about work, and I think about how much I think about work, and I freak out about how much I think about how much I think about work, and I think about how freaked out I get about how much I think about how much I think about work.

It’s tough to get out of bed; I know that myself. You can lie there for an hour and a half without thinking anything, just worrying about what the day holds and knowing that you won’t be able to deal with it.

So now live for real, Craig. Live. Live. Live. Live.

I don't owe people anything, and I don't have to talk to them any more than I feel I need to.

I want to live but I want to die. What do I do?

We look into each other's eyes as we shake. His are still full of death and horror, but in them I see my face reflected, and inside my tiny eyes inside his, I think I see some hope.

People are screwed up in this world. I'd rather be with someone screwed up and open about it than somebody perfect and ready to explode.