I got a few more chapters in with the count.
This is not a good day.
Probably not a good week.
So I'm going to pour myself a glass of scotch, and I'm going to think for a minute.
I could probably afford to draft my anti-material rifle, and even test fit the bugger. But I feel a complete lack of motivation to even fail at it...
We're drawing toward that lonely time when everyone's asleep, and I'm empty.
Feeling unaccomplished, or outright desperate.
I'd like to think a hot bath and some liquor will help, but I'm probably mistaken in that assumption.
There's just something so dreadful and suffocating about it all.
Failure, boredom, frustration.
Like there's only one answer.
Ah depression... how I've missed you.
Wait... he's ever-present with me.
What to do with myself...
Maybe some more goufing about when the buzz settles.
Though I do hate this feeling. Its so opressive, you can hardly get anything done with it.