.

I think I’m going mad. Going home for the holidays most certainly does not suit me. It reminds me, albeit far too late, that I have yet mastered the art of dealing with my family (if indeed, anyone does, baring those who are convinced that they have always been well-adjusted, whatever that means). There is a pang of familiarity, of comfort-closeness, of the home of childhood days (but, perhaps, not anymore), and on and on, yet there is detachment, a certain distance that comes from growing older, of experience that does not a man mature. There is hesitation, and I dread that I have lost something.

Or it could be I’m just plain bored. There is little to do, after all, and that’s enough to drive me crazy. And yes, I suppose, there is much that I could do, but I am lazy. Sloth comes to me automatically when I return home; it comes easy. I am well-fed though; Mom does cook when I’m back, and I will eat, even if I imagine the simple sugars and carbs invading and inflating my body. Ah, yes.

My mind is occupied with emptiness.

And so this life meanders, falters, for now. The dreams have faded.

~*~

It cannot be this difficult to write.

The mind clouds over, there can be no real effort. I have written short stories before, maybe now a novel at last? How to start, and how difficult can it be? Perhaps it is the very word itself - difficult - that has found itself stuck in my subconscious and there it is, the urge to cancel out the endeavour before I even begin, I wonder, is this how it is with all the other aspects of my daily routine?

There are always things to write about - a thousand and one ideas, none of them original, of course - but where is the desire, what is worth writing? Nothing, really. Perhaps writing itself is a waste of time, and time is short, but nothing is done anyway, so why not write?

This has been too much rambling, too much wandering. Also, ugly and untidy. Clean up this mess at once, boy.

Yes, sir. (And I hear his voice, and it instructs and it feels good to obey.)

~*~

I shall regret this later, I always do.

Current Mood: Dull and demented, likely.
Current Music:

• Frou Frou - Holding Out for a Hero
• The Dresden Dolls - Coin-Operated Boy
• Martha Wainwright - Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole