today has been rough. i barely got any sleep last night. i couldn't get comfortable, couldn't fall asleep. i was so exhausted, and my body tried, but i kept getting this weird feeling. i woke up and puked this morning. purely anxieties. it's like i can't calm my body down, its going as fast as my head. so now my body aches. i'm exhausted, and i'm nursing a headache. i need to learn how to calm myself down better. i never used to have anxieties this bad.
this letter is one of my favorites so far. i think because i feel a lot of it myself. underneath all the doubts and what ifs i fear, i know i can't give up. i've felt this strongly, this much, for one other person in my life... and that was shannon. and so i will wait and hope. because she's the only person in the whole world i want to spend my life with. for what i did to her, i deserve it. i don't deserve her. but she makes me want to be a better person. and i feel like we fit together.
c 1780
Sophie,
To be with the people one loves, says La Bruyere is enough -- to dream you are speaking to them, not speaking to them, thinking of them, thinking of the most indifferent things, but by their side, nothing
else matters. O mon amie, how true that is! and it is also true that when one acquires such a habit, it becomes a necessary part of one's existence.
Alas! I well know, I should know too well, since the three months that I sigh, far away from thee, that I possess thee no more, than my happiness has departed. However, when every morning I wake up, I look for you, it seems to me that half of myself is missing, and that is too true.
Twenty times during the day, I ask myself where you are; judge how strong the illusion is, and how cruel it is to see it vanish. When I go to bed, I do not fail to make room for you; I push myself quite close to the wall and leave a great empty space in my small bed. This movement is mechanical, these thoughts are involuntary. Ah! how one accustoms oneself to happiness.
Alas! one only knows it well when one has lost it, and I'm sure we have only learnt to appreciate how necessary we are to each other, since the thunderbolt has parted us. The source of our tears has not dried up, dear Sophie; we cannot become healed; we have enough in our hearts to love always, and, because of that, enough to weep always.
Gabriel Honore de Mirbeau
french revolutionary
mood.: 
indescribable
music.: margot and the nuclear so and so's