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The first line(s) of the first post of every month this year:

January: PS i love being wasted. Maybe i found my place in the sun.
February: I am really tired. My eyes hurt. But i've been laying in bed wide awake for 3 hours. I don't know what to do. About anything.
March: Kate handed me her lit cigarette that she didn't feel like finishing, and I smoked at least a third of it before I realized that I didn't even want a cigarette. I just brought it to my mouth because it was put between my fingers.
April: I, for one, am not hospitalized. I am, however, so hung over that it's been hard for me to spell 80% of the words I've typed so far.
May: I'm tired. I'm really, really tired. But I don't feel mentally prepared to sleep yet.
June: What I've had to eat today is 6 pizza rolls. Then I bought a fucking huge steak. I have no idea what to do with it. It's drizzling today. All my plants are dying.
July: I can't wait to have a job and relegate my drinking to specific parties once a month or less, and to consider getting coffee, seeing a movie, or having dinner to be "going out," and to grow a little garden on the balcony ledge. Then I'll get a pet. Probably a cat.
August: Very last night in our little apt. The end of another era. I've had some thoughts. Something has to change, I'd tell you about it, but it's not worth telling.
September: My mom just told me, in 80% sincerity, that i can't move to texas because she just heard that 68% of the population is obese.
October: I'm still in bed, and I have to leave the house in 10 minutes. Every day I wake up & think, this can't really be my life.
November: It's time to pack up my room. In high school i used to throw out half of what a owned every few months. An empty white space. That's what i need.
December: How do you change the color of the sky? Dye the sea.