Day 5

Today’s soundtrack: unpaid bills...Afghanistan hills
Today at 7:02pm: Doing involuntary push-ups.

Midnight on a Wednesday and you have to ask yourself, do you really wanna go out to a bar? Do you really want to put your Outside Pants on and stuff some crumpled, miraculously unspent bills in your pocket and go?
Or do you want to just stay home and chill. Catch a little Conan, make a nice pot of decaf, write your silly little journals.

Last night I chose wrong, I went to the bar. You shouldn’t go simply because you have nothing better to do, right? I used to think some sensation, any sensation was better than no sensation at all but now I’m not so sure.

Speaking of sensation did you ever drink absinthe? I drank it last year in friend's house. I’m not much for drugs and shit but absinthe was fucking awesome. It felt like listening to all the best Def Leppard songs in a cloud filled with pretty girls.

I’m hiding from my “journal.” I put “journal” in quotes because until I make some significant fucking progress it’s just a joke, a loose collection of unintelligent sentences that all happen to be in the same Word file.

When I’m writing it I see the characters moving around, I hear the things they say and I transcribe it.

When I’m not writing it I see the characters frozen in suspended animation, just sitting there floating. Doing nothing, saying nothing. They’re so sad when they’re not doing anything, it’s almost like they’re temporarily dead. Sometimes I go for a walk and they start moving again. Other times I look in the mirror and see a grim hack.