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April 13, 2014

Sleep is the only place I'm safe.
My brother is in town. My back hurts, I don't feel like I can write much more.
He has plans, threatens, to take over my bedroom in the old house.
People don't understand why this is distressing to me.
it is day 2 of my days off from work.
I didn't think it was possible to feel worse about myself from working.
I though it would always be a step up from not working. Something to say, at least I do that.
But it feels more pointless, more pointedly pointless. More violently pointless. Than doing nothing. It's active nothingness.
Anxiety over the breaks. Self-loathing, continual self-loathing, thoughts of suicide, throughout the workday. The realization that my coworkers are the same kinds of people I would encounter in special ed. The realization that special ed is still the best I think I can do.
In my sleep I am free. I haven't been having too many nightmares.
Awake, I pace between buildings, trying to decide what to do next, why doesn't it seem like there is enough time when my schedule is clear.
In my dreams, I write music.