I'm afraid I may have arthritis in my ankles. They crack so goddamn much and they've been aching dully all day long. That would be beyond pathetic. 19 with arthritis... please shoot me now. It's probably nothing, all of my joints are terrible. My knee has been a popping machine today. Maybe I should record one of its vocal performances and include it in some creepy trip hop. How's that for a brilliant exploitation of personal defects?
Reading is the perfect tool for detachment. It makes a little barrier of solitude, calming, serene. I read all of The Magic Whip by Wang Ping today, and 100 or so pages of Harry Potter. My mom went through my room though and went through my bookshelf, probably looking to see if I have condoms or drugs or something incriminating, and found two of Matt's books that he bought from the Deerfield Public Library and gave them back to the Library... She amazes me with how thick she is. This summer I know I'm going to rape every library possible. If I'm still living here, that is.