October 14, 2009
sometime after 7:00AM
The Zutons are golden.
I feel lonely and useless, no matter what I do.
2:22PM
I’ve just found the words to say this, and maybe a month of experiencing:
I have been in an emotionally gray spot. So many strong feelings are rushing forth at once, without provocation, and I’m either too dull or distracted to interpret them all at once, so this mass of emotional energy is…
in between any discernible, definable, recognizable, possible extremes.
It almost feels like the gears and cogs are grinding, and the metal’s soft, and the clock has to slow down or stop, before it breaks. The sharps points and edges are beaten, ground, bent, and dulled.
8:44PM
Smith has me reading Sprout, by Dale Peck.
I do not ever feel like writing, anymore, but I’m writing, now, because Sprout put me “in the mood”.
Everything bores.
Everything depresses.
If I don’t hang out with Colt, soon, I’ll scream.
