Been feeling fairly out of sorts lately.
I like to attribute it to my monthly demon, only because I loathe the possibility of it being something more.
I need to restart “the greatest meditation on Christianity” (Leib’s words, not mine) because I don’t have the time or energy to invest in such a long-winded read.
Really. I have lost the desire to do anything other than the newspaper, and even that is waning. I believe it is because I am tired of feeling like I am living my life according to someone else’s rules.
“And yeah, I remember the fire in her, the feel of her breasts, the taste she left in my mouth.”
I have been reading way too much Frank Miller lately. I think I am so in love with his characters because each one of them appears to live and love and hate with a fierce passion that I don’t think I have ever touched in my own life.
Blah-de-dah. I keep ranting about the same thing. It’s a problem I cannot seem to resolve.