I'm no longer anxious, because I'm giving up. Such a resigned yet gentle attitude towards life, it makes you humble, it turns me from a bitter cynical bitch to a saint, carrying the cross, bearing the whips like an oxen, such is life, such is the repetance. 

       I had a hard time getting through to my parents. It's funny how little I talk to them, but until now, didn't know how much I relied on those 10 minutes every two week mumble jumbles, or upsetting discussions. Home maybe the keeping place for the seed of your soul, like a duplicate key, now I can't get a hold of it, I start to panick. One thing leads to another, before I know it, I'm an emotional rack, filling the toll of anxiety attacks.