My room is a mess, a side-effect of my busy schedule. I should be cleaning. Hell, I should be sleeping, but I’d rather write instead, seeing as how I haven’t had a chance in four days. It would appear as if I’m going through some sort of expression withdrawal.

Vincent Gallo practically wrote this entry for me.

(If you’re going to listen to this song, turn the lights down, or at least close your eyes. Remove yourself of any ambient noise. Breathe slowly for 30 seconds before playing it. This song deserves it. You deserve it.)

Even though it went up to 28°C today, the morning started cold and calm. There was so much moisture in the air that one could taste the grey.

It made me strangely stoic when I left the house. Something about the whether that reminded me of how comforting it can be to feel sad. It’s as if the earth had decided to compliment my mood with cloud cover. I can’t even explain the cause of my sadness, and can only guess that realization and acceptance are setting in. The only saving grace is that I feel confident enough to pick myself up and move on. Not that I want to do it alone right now. Wish I had the option.

As the day dragged on, things started to wear me down. Exhaustion dried my eyes. I kept trying to pick myself up, kept trying to hide my sighing sadness from those around me, to no avail.

Wish I had a smile in my wardrobe for days like this.

Even the morning weather is getting warm and unbearable. For the last month I’ve been mentally preparing myself for the muggy summer days, when every second outside is torture and I feel like showering every other hour. I hate this fucking weather. Why can’t it be fall again?

It’s so subtly beautiful outside this morning. It’s been a string of sunny, clear mornings in a row, but today, at 6:30 ante meridian, the sky was dark and grey.

There’s still a mist through the air, and it feels like a damp fall evening, one best spent in front of a fire with a book in hand and the smell of wood in the air. If it weren’t for the fact that this is well into spring, this day wouldn’t feel so out of place. But alas, all the street lamps cast their yellowish light onto the streets, and all I want to do is lie in bed and listen to the wet tires of cars driving by.

A weekend of relaxation and intoxication.

The first time that I’ve known Pat to be Jen-less, he calls me up, wants to hang out. Fucking cool. We go for the breakfast special at a Greek Souvlaki house, he takes the sausage, I take the bacon. After, we head to the table tennis club (something I hoped he’d do for a while now) for a few matches. He beats me 5–1, and I find out that he’s running on three hours of sleep. He goes home to run some errands, I go home to sleep. He comes back here to meet up with me and Trolley, after cooking some burgers on his grill and putting together fixings, corn-on-the-cob, and pasta salad. We eat, watch some Harvey Birdman, play games for eight hours. Part and crash.

Today, wake up with my cat stretched out on my pillow. Trolley and I head to the table tennis club, play for an hour, head downtown to buy a few albums. The weather being so nice, we go to the Highlander with their distracting uniforms, and sit down for a pint on the patio. Clink. Come back, and I get to organize while listening to my new Modest Mouse album.

Don’t want to lose this feeling.