Morning.

I hate when life just collapses. For no honest to goodness reason, it just breaks a hipbone and falls flat on its face-- and it's only twenty-one years old.

Today was a broken-hip day.

No real reason, honestly... there just isn't one. I tried everything to cheer myself up; I talked with Wade and Carli, I bantered with Erin, I cried a little to Nikki, I baked cookies, I made mix CDs, I slept late, I read The Phantom of the Opera and Me Talk Pretty One Day... it all just seemed idiotic.

My wall is covered with Post-It notes, with brisk phrases in Chinese scribbled on their cheery yellow. I just keep muttering ching-wa tsao duh liou mong in the hopes that a guardian-angel-somebody up there will realize I'm calling him a frog-humping son of a bitch and that he'll finally get the point. He sucks at his job.

I've stayed up two nights in a row, walking the brand-new pine floorboards in the bare kitchen, my naked feet scuffing on the wood. I've watched the sky turn from black to red to gray to blue, and it always comes back around to the same thing.

The same stupid, fruitless thing... and I still don't know what to do.