Diehard deathbed.

People are often surrounded by the reminders of their worst moments.

We walk down the street proverbially trackmarked and smoking, pushing proverbial strollers too young, carrying our parole officer's information in our wallets with the insurance card that cost five times as much since we hit that guy. These things surround us like a halo -- notes from past relationships, that dress we bought before we got fat, the homework crumpled up in the bottom of our backpack -- and it glows until it blinds us. We have bad habits so bright we can't see beyond them.

Mine is here on this couch, literally surrounded by blankets and trash, wishing I could muster the energy to get up. Knowing I have class today. Knowing that there are real people out there who really miss me and wonder where I've been.

But those people don't know me. They don't know my couch, my computer, or my complete inability to see past them. They don't know how wonderful it is for me to stay up all night talking online. They don't know how much actual love is here in this world. They don't know how the comfort wraps itself around me, the waves of binary communication, the friendships and loves swirling all around this couch, these blankets, this moniter, my mind, my heart.

Even if this isn't healthy, I want to keep it.