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My sister
Noticed my haircut.

It didn't really sound like she liked it; that's okay, I'm not fully satisfied with it myself. This particular hairdresser always leaves the hair around my ears too long.

I'm slogging my way through my little pile of correspondence.

I'm in a needy mood for conversation. I've phoned Mom and Grandma already. I imagine by 11, I'll feel pretty agitated. I don't want to bother Sarah; we'll just watch shows, anyway. I guess I could call Cherish -- she isn't in bed yet. Grandma said to phone her again in a few hours. I've already asked the compulsory "how's ___" questions. I hope we'll have lots to talk about with the garden, and future chores. I feel bad, phoning her sometimes, if I don't have 5+ good questions to ask her. Or, topics on hand that she can comment back on. I hate just rambling at her. I want her to talk back, really. That's why I phone people.

Actually, this explains why talking to Carol is hard; all she does is dole advice. My life is a wreck, so, I guess she's got full licence here. Sometimes, I wish we were more like friends, confiding in each other, and passing on good tidbits we learn. Her botany stuff always goes right over my head. Actually, it's tempting to read up on the stuff on my own, just to learn the lingo...

I feel forever behind in a mound of hobbies and interests. Disconnected, and lost, in society.

I still feel like a fringe member; I suppose being mentally ill actually does make me a sort of secondary citizen. I can't seem to work; I can't even work up the brains to answer emails regularly. I feel sort of like I'm regressing a little.

This is not progress.

Should I really be letting this medication have the benefit of my doubt?

You Missed:

*DISCLAIMER
* WHO TF IS ALL THIS??!
* INTRO, 2
* NAQ

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Circa 2010