Sometimes I do things to myself, destructive things, and I don't remember them until later. It's as though a force is guiding me and I wake up some time in the middle of it or it eventually occurs to me that I have just done something self-destructive.
Tonight, on the way home, I stopped at 7-11 and bought a pack of cloves (I don't smoke...except for the past few days, I suppose). I got on the T, intending to go to Porter Square, but in a moment of blind spontaneity, jumped off of the train at Harvard Square and decided to walk home from there, so that I could talk to Peter and smoke a clove.
So, here I am, smoking my cancer-stick, cell phone on one ear, ipod blaring in the other, walking alone late at night.
It's like playing a game of Russian roulette that might last forty or fifty years. Which instance of self-destructive behaviour that I perform in my early twenties will kill me years from now?! You decide!
Now Listening: Stars - Your Ex-Lover Is Dead
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