Life's rigor has been taking a toll. Ingrid Michaelson does nothing more than amplify the theme of keep breathing in the very life I'm living in. I guess what really makes things special are the special people around you who throw you a rubber float.

I just browsed wefeelfine.org which is such a stunning piece of work. Browsing through the porny bits, the sad bits, the happy bits, my heart spins in so many directions. Honestly its quite an emotional rollercoaster browsing through the photos. My heart sank when I saw "I feel like describing all the gay sex I've had". It brought perspective- that there are deeper holes and louder cries.

Right now I'm mentally and physically exhausted. But my heart has such an immense urge to purge something out. I don't even know what I'm trying to say. It's ducky swimming here and there in this large pond. Even my analysis sounds so irrational and whatever and whatever and whatever.

Take a look there: wefeelfine.org. Maybe everything there sums up what I want to say.

Today was a rather disorientated day. In fact most days are disorientated. I go on severe mood-swings, a lousy surfer riding colossal waves. Such is the state of my brain in the morning.

I didn't eat breakfast and recess today, resulting in a 19 hour fast. I did it before but today was enormously horrible. How does one sits through the side effects of anorexia amazes me. It's really not the hunger that kills you, but the headaches and drowsiness and lack of energy and this and that and shit.

Prelims are in 15 days and for the first time in my life I'm actually giving a damn. The bad part about that is you're affected by the results you achieve. Because if you do badly and you worked hard it means you suck.

I need to sleep early. Disconnect.

It doesn't take much to push around the angular borders of the human dense carriage. A bit of excuse me, a bit of elbow, a bit of thank you, and it takes you to a spot more comfortable than before. The keyword is really than before because what things really are later is largely the same thing: squashed, confused sardine conditions. What I really yearn for is that despite the jostling and pushing and cramp and claustrophobic spasms, I have this really nice pole to lean on. It's cold, it's lifeless, it's doesn't give a damn. But at least I can lean on it till I get home.

Get on the train, it's time to move on. How come my feet freezes?