"And then depression set it..."
--Bill Murray in Stripes
I'm homesick. I feel totally alone right now. And empty... can't forget the empty. Lord knows I'm trying too, though. The last time I felt this twisted up inside, I nearly did a fool thing... I don't like the thought of that creeping back into my life. I thought I left it behind. But fuckin' A if it's not lurking around the corner, still.
I started re-reading "The Razor's Edge" today. For years and years and years the only book that had any meaning in my life was the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (for some very weird reasons I don't wanna go into now). It still holds a lot of weight with me. But, ever steadily over the years, Mr. Maugham's novel has been working up to the number one spot. I think it's finally there (I'll change the order in "My Favorite Books" another day). Only 50 pages into it today, but I'm seeing parallels between myself and Larry Darrell. Kinda comforting and unsettling all at once.
All I want to do is loaf... and find the meaning of life. At least, the meaning of my life. The rest of you fuckers can fend for yourselves on that one. You're probably more capable of doing it than I have been so far, anyhow.
I'm going to go take a lot of pills now (but not too many) and lay down my weary head. Hopefully, tomorrow won't seem as dull and grey.
