Entry 4

So today's entry will be a prime example of my inability to keep a diary, seeing as how I just spent forty five minutes sitting in front of my computer thinking about things to write and still have nothing. Shocker I know, because we've established that this is one of my favorite things to do, right?

Look, I wouldn't call myself a shabby writer or anything, but diaries? The only reason I would ever even consider buying a diary is because it would be cool to open and close the lock. Even then I'd probably just lose the key.

I mean what do you want to know about? Do you want to know about the Ramen I am currently eating? Or the laundry I folded this morning? The most interesting thing that happened was that perfume salesman who came into my aunt Peg's antique store today. Kept asking me if I'd even smelled Scent of Brittany Spears. The stuff smelled like piss but I bought some anyway and gave it to Peg. It's all over the house now and I find myself missing the incense.

I know that I'm the one who bought it so I shouldn't be complaining, and if I didn't want the stuff I shouldn't have even bothered to pay for it, but the guy selling it looked sick. Like, head sick. Sometimes I see people like that on the streets around here, and I wonder if that's how I'm going to end up in a few years. Sick, homeless and trying to sell piss on street corners. Peg can't take care of me forever.

This got depressing pretty quickly. I don't want to think about this kind of stuff right now. It's too late in the night and I don't need anymore nightmares.