Dear Diary
I feel at a loss as to what I'm supposed to do with myself today.
It's almost evening now and just a day earlier this was a raging afternoon when I sat with a blunt in hand, colours in my head and now I sit with thoughts of the same.
Having retrieved my third instalment of laundry from the drier I now question my part in this life and wonder if I start questioning things all too soon and if there's a sense of entitlement I hide within.
Still a part of the couch I've yet to clear the table addled with groceries and my head of the web of reminiscences that seem to wash over everything I decide.
I'm not one for nostalgia but I am one for memories and the problem with wonderful memories is that they make everything mundane pale to an unlikely prospect depleting each moment of blandness into a tragedy which never matches up to those grandiose moments of joy.
These are of course withdrawals and perhaps in a day or two I'll be fine.
Now all I gotta do is find that silver lining.
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