full of moxie and viscosity

Emily brought up a good point tonight. I've lost my ability to talk to retards and children. Also, my tolerance for everyone in the world is dwindling quickly and I do believe it's in direct proportion to my tolerance for myself. Now, is this because I haven't been writing that much? Or because I can see myself literally fading into nothingness here in Fresno, California? Ah, perhaps we should get to the root of this problem:

I am not okay when I am by myself.

I was, when I was in Vancouver, somehow that was okay. I was okay by myself. I liked it, I wanted more of it, I wanted the solitude and the breathy drives and the words and the air conditioning. That's what I longed for. It emptied me out, cleared out all of the rubbage and pressure. But now, there's nothing to fill it back up with, god damnit, there's nothing left. All of my spring cleaning left me with nothing. Good thing the rotten shit is off the shelves, but seriously, I have no money to grocery shop again and ain't no one cooking for me. The hunger will indubitably consume me.