Bad subjects, sore subjects, finally aware of all the things creeping around in my room at night. Wondering if this is a healthy addiction. Wondering if I'll be able to write an essay and a weekly piece this week. Bad withdrawals, not healthy, waiting for my goddamn meds. It's hot here so the veins are popping out in my hands like they do when it's hot or if I get upset. Haven't talked to Fidel. Want to talk to him. Want to hang with him. Want something. Hot and cold, which is the lesser of two evils. Be back later, have to find my birth control pills.