Almost not gonna write today due to a black mood. Bear with me. And if you are happy, bless you and hang on monkey! Don't let go.
Ever just wake up with a heart full of grief. Seems like everything has just passed away suddenly to the point where even your bedroom feels as alien as cheap hotel in Cheyenne, Wyoming filled with empties from last nights lonely debacle with three strangers you met at the bar and are already long-gone. Now, its just you and bolted remote and fuzzy memories of some girl you never really knew that well anyway.
I don't know where these mornings come from. There isn't any real impetus. I had a great night. I ate tons of delicious food and watched Sex and the City. I giggled. I read some Dave Eggers (not the depressing stuff). I went to bed reasonably and had no bad dreams. Where does it come from? My friend Kristin tells me that I am self-destructive; not because of alcohol or nicotine abuse, but more of an abuse of sadness (wallowing, we'll call it). I suppose that's right. But you know, I don't think slipping into a black mood from time to time is such an extraordinary event, so long as it passes. Life is hard and it is sad, much as it is a fuckload of fun sometimes. I wallow in the good times a little more than most folks. I suppose I am owed the sad, spinning loose mornings just as a balancing trick.
Anyhows. This is just relating. Tomorrow I'll try to be funny. I'll keep my ears open for hysterical little details. Today, however, you get this.
