Everyone in This Room Will Someday Be Dead

I’ve got it all figured out. We’re a parasite. Other animals on this planet coexist with nature. We don’t; we’re like scabies. Tiny mites covering the outer layer of earth, burrowing into it, infecting it. We are like tapeworm

I felt like I was never in the moment I was in. I was always looking back, or
worried about the future

Drinking is bizarre. I’m poisoning myself.

Ingrid and I are not close friends anymore. She isn’t the same person. She’s a grown-up. I don’t know her; I know the teenaged version of her. I’m at this party because I feel indebted as a friend to the shadow of the kid that she used to be. It’s strange I’m here at all. I wonder how long it takes the cells in our bodies to replace themselves. I wonder if I’m literally no longer the same person I was when Ingrid and I were friends.

If I woke up tomorrow and was told my entire life was a simulation, I’d believe it.

Should I be comforting him? What if I slip up? What if I say something like, Don’t worry, Jeff, life is meaningless; it’s strange and inexplicable that we exist to begin with. We are all basically dead already in the grand scheme of things, and our feelings of sadness are pointless—they are just how our meat sacks react to the chemicals in our bodies.

I hate it when people catch me looking at them.

She broke up with me. She said I had no ambition and that I was strange.

I liked to daydream about what I might do, where I might go, and what might happen to me. I don’t do that anymore. I can’t see myself older.

I feel very detached from myself physically right now,” I admit. “My mind feels foggy. I can’t really tell if my head hurts or not. I think it does.”