Ugh. I feel taint­ed. Moody. It feels like no one likes me. For the first time in a very long time, I feel alone.

I just start­ed three dif­fer­ent entries, but did­n’t fin­ish any of them. I’m not even in the mood to write this. I’m just sit­ting here with the lights out, two Candellas perched on top of my desk, and the first vol­ume of Buddha Bar resound­ing in the room. My head is numb, my throat dry, my cat unin­ter­est­ed.

This has become so bland. The same things over and over again. Where did my humour go? When did things stop chang­ing? Maybe I need a break from this.

Tomorrow, I’ll fin­ish this tomor­row. This is just a mood. I’ll explain when I’m not as tired. I’ll go to bed with this music on, dream­ing of quaint European archi­tec­ture and par­ties I could host to this sound.

Maybe I’ll feel bet­ter when I hit, “Publish”.