overlook

jesus, this was a painful weekend. maybe the weekend itself wasn't as painful as the lingering hurt it's left in me. i didn't even drink that much. i mean, i had way too many drinks friday night. saturday night i had a few. sunday, just two. maybe that's what hurt: the gradual sobriety...

just when i think i'm reaching a new stage of strength, i fall back into the misery of it all. this is going to be a fucking punishing christmas. i have really got nothing i'm looking forward to.

i should be writing, and i'm not. a scattershot of words here and there, nothing consistent. the situation should be ideal for writing. the solitude. the isolation. and yet...

all work and no play makes jack a dull boy
all work
and no play
makes jack
a
dull
boy
all
work and no
play
make
jack a dull
b oy