Last night had all the makings of my kind of Saturday night. Alcohol - check. Cigarettes - check. Music - check. Good food - check. Lovely farmhouse - check. But I just wasn't feeling it. Probably was the company - a new bunch of people and nice enough, mind, but I just couldn't muster any sort of enthusiasm.
Truth be told, these days I hardly ever feel it with new people, or actually even the usual suspects for that matter. In the last few months, I've sort of let go. I rarely go out, I eat twenty four seven, I'm still smoking, I haven't been writing or reading too much and been spending much too many hours watching TV.
Relationships well, HEH. I'm as good at them as I am at refraining from a steaming pile of... fries (potayto potaashit!). I don't think the mard and I have been hunky dory in a long time, although he vehemently declares this untrue. If you asked me to name my closest friends, I'd have to say, after five minutes of thinking, names that are only still on the list because we don't meet that much and there's a comfortable distance.
I'm not sure when this happened, but it did. I feel listless, unsatisfied, disoriented, ugly and cruel. And like Lu-Tze, the time-keeping monk would say, it's getting on my thungas.
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