day-to-day:

there was a different mail guy on duty so there's nothing to tell there.

my roommate finally started speaking to me besides the one and two words she'd mustered thus far. her name is apparently Hannah and she's a lesbian. she'd in for a suicide attempt but has been getting treated for a meth addiction as well.

we watched some telelvision together and talked about music (she has a tegan & sara tattoo! awesome.), movies (she loves harold & maude! even awesomer.) and relationships (she tried to kill herself after her girlfriend died of an overdose so this was a pretty macabre topic). she apologized for "being a cold bitch" thus far and i apologized for masturbating while she was in the room the first night i got here.

i also saw Roth at lunch today. he was sitting alone so i plopped down across from him and he warmed right up. i really like him. i can tell because i haven't been overly tempted to drag him into the nearest janitor's closet, i genuinely like talking to him. don't get me wrong... give the oppurtunity... hmmmmm

group therapy was shitty as always. that obnoxious twat was running it again today and she scowled at me the whole time. if she weren't such an unbearable cunt she'd be attractive but that permanent "my shit doesn't stink" look on her face fucks it all up. she skipped me during "sharing time" so that was nice but otherwise it was just as shitty as always.

no dr favero today. he's out for the next couple of days apparently. his replacement, dr lyons is way hotter and i therefore couldn't really concentrate properly during our brief session. he kept talking to me but he has such a deep dark baritone voice that just made it worse. they couldn't give me an ugly doctor in his 80s, it had to be the hot black doctor in his 30s with the michael clarke duncan voice, didn't it? god, i hope he doesn't read this.

alright, now since i know dr favero will eventually get to reading this i better to some of the backstory bullshit he wanted:

like i said, i stole my name from my dead sister. i'm actually Jayna. Jayna Jadwig Hagen. my parents were german-descent brits who moved my sister and i to new york when i was 12 (and Katja was 15).

two years later Katja ran away from home because my father didn't approve of her 28 year-old boyfriend, Freddie C - the aspiring rapper and small-time drug dealer. we didn't see her for three years and when she came home, she had a three year-old son and a $250-a-day heroin habit. she lived at home, bleeding my parents dry for another two years before she had the decency to die. she was 5'9 and 87 pounds.

i left home the day after i turned eighteen. i couldn't stand to see Katja day-in and day-out, slowing killing herself and my parents. i didn't go to her funeral and i didn't go to my mother's funeral. i don't know what happened to her son and i haven't spoken to my father since he called to tell me my mother was dead - he's probably dead by now too.