Last night I slept like a baby for the first time in months. I just laid down at 9:30 and slept straight through till 7:30. Unable to remember my dreams, I can't remember if it was even a good sleep. It was just a deep sleep, completely undisturbed by anything.

This evening, early morning, is like every other night. Tossing and turning until the dreams and feelings of, well, god knows what they could be at this hour. Nothing more than a jumbled mass that I couldn't possibly begin to sort out here or in my head.

Now I just sit here, cigarette in mouth as usual, smoke stinging my eyes, running all my words together because I'm tired as hell even though my eyes are so wide open they feel like they'll never close again.

I realize these entries in my diary have become a shell. They're not what they used to be. Not nearly as long nor as detailed as I once made them. I find I can't articulate everything here. There's been too much going on with me and inside of me to put it all down in one place at one time. I've scattered myself to the winds of journaling in various places even though when I started this thing I intended to keep it all open in here.

Now secrets abound and it feels quite wierd and forgien to me. Yet I still dare not put them all down in here. Maybe I'm just learning to not have such a big mouth, or maybe I'm just afraid to let everything loose. Going up inside myself until I can't tell which way is up.