So many thoughts.

I just smoked my last cigarette. It's 5:30 am Eastern Standard Time, and I'm nowhere near the verge of sleep.

Today I slept until three, woke up, showered, ate a leftover Sloppy Joe sandwich, and took my mother's car to my uncle's gas station, where I cashed a seven dollar check that was buried under the driver's side seat of my neglected Honda Civic. The check was from a friend at my old job. The only thing that we had in common was the secret we shared. We both had strong affections for prescription opiates. I loved her dearly.

I have to say that I miss LA. Some of the experiences I had there were too Hollywood for Hollywood. I'll never forget them.

Maybe I'll be back one day. Today I wrote the first and last page of a screenplay about my life. After typing the last word, I realized that I am far too young to be writing an autobiography, even if it could possibly be my ticket out of here. Instead, I decided to do it the old fashioned way. I revamped my resume, skewing words to make my work experience appear much more grandiose and important than in reality, and sent it--along with a well-written cover letter and the recommendation I have from the Colonel--to several agencies in Hollywood looking for personal assistants.

Oh, I think my grandfather is dying. I mean, of course he's dying--he's ninety--but, I think he's dying at a faster rate than I have normally anticipated. I like to wonder what he was like when he was my age.