I Promote My Own Self-hatred.

I Didn't Think I Was In A Morbid Mood, But It Appears I Am. My Mind Goes Round And Round Trying To Figure Things Out, But I Always Come Back To The Same Two Things: Loneliness And Death. Life Ends Before We Figure Anything Out, Most Importantly How Not To Be Lonely. Solitude Is Fine. But Feeling Like You Have No One To Love - Abject Lonliness - Is Not Alright.

I Don't Like Rides. I Take Everything In Life Quite Literally, And So I Genuinely Feel Terrified On Rides And Liable To Vomit At Any Moment, And I Hate To Vomit Even More Than I Fear Rides. So, All This To Say, I Don't Have A Favorite Ride. I Don't Go On Rides. Well, That's Not True. A Few Years Ago I Had A Beautiful, Romantic Moment On The Ferris Wheel At Coney Island, Known As The Wonder Wheel, And So I Guess That's My Favorite Ride, Though Even That, To Be Frank, Terrified Me.

Oh, God, I Don't Know What's More Difficult, Life Or The English Language.

I Live For Coincidences. They Briefly Give To Me The Illusion Or The Hope That There's A Pattern To My Life, And If There's A Pattern, Then Maybe I'm Moving Toward Some Kind Of Destiny Where It's All Explained.

I Don't Really Recognise Success. I Don't See Myself As On An Upwardly Mobile Trajectory. I See Myself As On The Edge Of A Cliff About To Fall Off.