What's the point? Why am I here trying to be a writer? I can't write. Who am I kiddidng? I'm a bad hack that doesn't even know what to steal. I'm here because I don't have anyone to marry. I messed that up when I couldn't repress my anger anymore. Fucking depression. Now my ex-finance has some live in girl friend, finally graduated and is probably happy (good for him) and I'm on the other side of the country in the freezing cold busting my emotions trying to be a "good writer" or at least decent. Why am I trying to be a man, or some women that can conquer the world, because I can't. I was raised to get married and have two and a half children. Why am I trying to conquer the world? I should move to some nice little mid-west town and marry and nice little mid-west boy who has a job that will let us live decently and raise nice little mid-west children. I must be a fucking psycho to have thought I could ever do this in the first place. Maybe I could just kill myself. That would be a solution. I don't care what the psychologists say, I believe that suicide is prefectly natural.