Bohemia is dead.

I think I may have a problem.

Shit.

Things Mark owns:
(with convenient bullet points)

• a Pillard Bolex 16mm camera
• a coffee maker
• a hotplate
• a microwave
• a futon
• a bicycle
• a laptop
• a tiny, ill-smelling refrigerator

Things Mark needs:
(also with convenient bullet points)

• new glasses

...turns out the bullet points weren't needed for that one.

Note to self:
Take Ellie up on the apartment offer.

Seems my building has been condemned. Haha.

Note to self:

Falling down hurts.
Don't do it anymore.

Also:

For fuck's sake, what am I doing awake right now?

Oh god. Mother's Day is coming. Am I obligated to send something, or God forbid, call when it has been made clear that I am a disappointment that obviously hates my family? Would it make things better? Worse? I don't know! Why can't things ever be easy?

Meanwhile, I still feel like shit. I guess that's a given. Anyway, going back to work either way. The emotional equivalent of "walking it off," right? I'm just so tired. Fuck. Every time I think I'm getting somewhere and know what I'm doing, something always knocks me back into being this lost, drowning idiot.

Going for a run.

Funny how holidays make a person really want to curl up someplace and die.

"Mark. This is your father. So you're not coming? Nice to know your little housekeeping job is more important than your family. You're breaking your mother's heart, Mark. I knew I was right about you. You'll always be a disappointment. Always.

Don't bother calling back."

I still haven't decided if I should go or not. I should go. I should. I'm going to feel way too guilty if I don't. But I so don't want to talk to my dad and it's kind of difficult to avoid when you're sitting at the table with the man.

Maybe I'll just tell them I can't get out of work. It's not necessarily a lie, I like to think that I'm kind of needed here.

Bleh. My throat hurts.

Mom wants me to come home for Passover. I don't really want to go and I don't really want to ask for the time off. But I also feel like I should. I don't know. I told her I would think about it. This is why I never answer the phone; when I do, I end up saying "I'll think about it." Things are so much easier when they forget I exist.

Up and relatively awake. Coffee is brewing, so hopefully I will be more than relatively awake soon.

I think I may start running again. Now that my soul is no longer being sucked out through my pores and I am no longer on a diet of crap with a side of crap, maybe I'll have the energy for it soon. I haven't gone running for a long time, but something about this place makes me want to do it again.

The new job is good. Ellie and Mike are great. Lu's a sweet kid, though he wears me out. Ah, to be that alive again. Maybe some day, we'll see.

Still thinking about NEA. Still worried about it as well. God I suck.

When I moved back here, I thought that if I was away from New York and doing a mindless job, I'd be able to forget, be able to cope. I'd gone through a lot, and thought that escape was the best way to get back what I lost. Instead, the mindless job turned out to be a soulless job, and being alone here hasn't helped me forget, it only makes me remember what I had.

I haven't picked up my camera since I've been here. I can't really explain it, but I'm scared to. I was so burnt out before, I'm afraid to find out that I might never be able to get out of the rut I'm in. What if I'm totally unable to make another film? That thought is terrifying, and I honestly don't know if I want to find out it's true.

I was thinking of possibly applying for an NEA grant, but if I'm not able to do my work, what would be the point? I don't know. We'll see, I suppose.

I'm looking forward to the new job. Maybe it'll help me. Who knows? It might be good for me. I've never done anything like that before. God knows NYC isn't too big on farms.

Dad's still on me about med school. I don't want to spend the next million years of my life in school learning how to do a job I would hate. How long does he have to know me before he realizes that I don't really like to be around strangers all that much? Much less sick strangers. I've been around sickness enough. I don't want to do it anymore. I can't do it anymore. I wish I knew how to get him to leave me alone. I'm not a complete waste, no matter what he says. I'm just not what he wants me to be. I never will be.

I can't seem to sleep. Not that I was ever much of a sleeper, but I'm actually really tired. I just can't sleep.

I got home from work last night, took my shoes off and laid down on the bed. It was at that time that I started crying. I didn't stop for what seemed like forever. Even thinking about it makes my eyes sting.

Maybe mom's right. Maybe I should just go home. I don't know.

I need a different job.

I think I'm going to take a walk. Maybe get some coffee. God knows sleep isn't going to happen.

*beep*

Mark? Mark, this is your mother. I don't know why you never pick up. Listen, honey, your father and I are worried about you. You never call, you write. You could be dead for all we know, knock on wood.

I'm sending you some money, don't tell your father, but you really should just come home. I'm serious, Marky. There's no shame in that! You know I only want what's best for you.

Remember to eat, sweetie. Love, you!

Things to do:

- Find a job that doesn't involve wearing a smock
- or a visor and/or paper hat

...that's pretty much it for now.