Days lately feel so empty to me. I am thinking a lot about a lot of things but either don’t have the energy to put my thoughts to words, or I just don’t know what to say. I am tired. I feel like things are slipping away so quickly all around me, and I am in the same place. I am quietly watching the whole world change. And I am left out of it.

My days are consumed with deadlines and diet coke and too many cigarettes lately, leaving me with the sour taste in my mouth of not really having time to connect with anyone. Weekends speed by. All the while, I try to squeeze in as much fun, as many friends and strong shooters as I possibly can, so that I feel like I have gotten the most of my two days of freedom. The thing is, my heart isn’t in any of this that I do anymore. I don’t know where my heart is. Half the time, I am just wondering through life, doing exactly what I did the day before. Routine. Routine is the death of creativity.

I used to write every day. Years ago. And not blog material. Beautiful stuff. And I knew it was beautiful. I could feel the beauty in it. Now, there is very little beauty in anything. Things are brown. Dull. Somber.

I need a vacation. Or Paxil.