Days turn into nights, nights turn into days, the usual cliche. I try to be motivated, find the things in life that are worth doing. Living alone for many years should become one of those psychological tests they use to crack people. Many people would crack, I tell you. I now live on the ground floor and many nights I have the option of either sleeping or starring into my window hoping no face would suddenly pop up against the glass. I have stopped watching C.S.I, seems there is no end on different ways to kill innocent people in all kinds of places. And the mutherfuckers show all those crime series late at night too. Very annoying. I wish every channel would just stick to late night Seinfield or talk shows or whatever. Just something banal and lighthearted.
Sooner or later, you begin to imagine all the fun you would be having if there was just someone there. But like all fantasies, experience shows that having someone there might be more stressful than dealing with your self 24/7.
I am not sure if I am my own friend yet. I try to be but sometimes I see the kind of shit I do and I wonder whose side I am on. Get a grip, woman.
Apart from all the psycho stuff, I am alive and doing fairly okay. Not totally miserable as one might assume with this nonsense post but not exactly dancing with marracas on a table either.
God of creativity where art thou? Have you abandoned me and my mad brain? I need to be inspired again, see life with all its colours and glory on a fucking field of ....what was that song by Sting again? Field of something....gold...