I slept 12 hours yesterday.

I love when you wake up from a long sleep and it feels like the whole world is fresh and new. Maybe it's because you just spent so much time dreaming, and living in that world that you created -- but its really refreshing to come back and taste reality again. Yum, yum. . .

And then, it's off to work and the melancholy that is this repetition of days. I believe someone else said it best, "Same old shit, different day." But my job isn't all that bad. I mean, it affords me opportunities to do things like read those books that I've been meaning to get to, and write poetry that's been welling inside my head, and even (every great once in a while) stop to collect some thoughts in this little space here. Plus it pays. So I suppose that I really shouldn't complain; after all, there are a whole bunch of people in this world far more unfortunate than me.

Speaking of this world -- no, I'd rather not. It's all a mess, and we're not really doing anything to fix the mess (in fact, we're probably only serving to create a more proflagerated version of 'the mess.') errr...this only makes me frustrated and angry. It's all about breaking eggs, I suppose.

There's just too many fucking omelets being made right now.