What would qualify as a real entry in this diary? I don't even know anymore. Somewhere along the way I feel like I've lost my edge in journaling. If I ever had it.

"The war is over and now I realize it was all in my head.

Sitting here, with the requisite cigarette hanging out of my mouth, the usual smoke buring my eyes and infecting my lungs, I type. On and on, I type, but most of it never makes it here.

Dear Diary, I hope you understand that my life has twisted itself into ways that make it so that I cannot type it all here anymore. I don't know if I've out grown you, but you're still important to me. Love, Kat.

That was pretty random, wasn't it? That's basically the state of my life and my head. Completely random. Its not as bothersome as it used to be, just harder to keep track of what I'm thinking from one moment to the next. Hence, difficult to type it all here.

I wanted to get in my car this afternoon and just drive until I saw water. Only getting out of my car to walk right up to the ocean, challenging it to swallow me whole or wash away this restlessness. Just the salty green water and my body free floating on the waves and washed up on the shore with the seaweed.