It's hard for me to concentrate in the presence of other people. Working at a coffee shop and knowing this about myself makes me wonder why other people prefer a public setting to do their thinking. Is it because they grew accustomed to the classroom setting, surrounded by people their age? I don't know. What I do know, though, is that it's nearly impossible for me to begin a book or write a coherent entry in my journal under these conditions.
It doesn't help that I've gone out on a regular basis since returning from Florida, nor is it beneficial to be smoking cigarettes on an inconsistent basis. When this happens, my mind feels detached from my brain and almost inaccessible.

Here's an excerpt from a letter I'll never write:

It's not that I hate my life. Actually, that couldn't be farther from the physical locality of the truth (actually, "further from the truth" will work just fine). It's that I hate other people's lives-- the inconsistencies in logic, and the conflicting principles people hold, and how "praiseworthy" is synonymous with "out of reach." It's the lack of a practical approach and the quick fixes. And that becomes a refusal to accept and take responsibility. And these banks and drug companies offer a slippery slope that wouldn't seem so steep with the application of pragmatic thought.
Can't sleep? Maybe going for a run and adjusting your diet could help. Or Ambien. That's cool too, I guess. Can't keep up with mounting credit card debt? Maybe a student in the middle class of society wasn't meant to live larger than the Pharaohs of ancient Egypt. Or maybe a new television is in need of purchasing, as some more outfits and expensive dinners.
This is life: the shortcuts to happiness have repercussions that far outweigh the fleeting moments. This is rudimentary stuff-- cheating on your homework assignments will usually leave you several steps behind on studying for the test.

Enough complaining. Time for some oatmeal.