I'm reading Running With Scissors
and identifying with it greatly.

Augusten Burroughs is my hero.
I hear myself in his thoughts.

I see myself in his neuroses
and admire his honesty.

I can relate to the absurdity
of his upbringing.

How in the face of some things so horrible
Laughing about it is the only way to stay sane.

Brutally honest.
Prematurely self-aware.

Gawd, my writing is so dry right now.
I sound like his pretentious, self-important mother.
Thrilled by the sound of my own voice.

Too many filters on right now.
Too much thought police-ing.

Going to bed.