"You have all the qualities of a maggot except vitality."

I'm tired of music (even Billy) and reading (even Steve) and the Internet (even Trollface) and pretty much everything but sleeping. I think we had better just declare me a big quivering lump of goo and then pour salt on it. Seriously, I can't remember a time when I've felt this useless, and not even just useless, but like an actual albatross to those I love. Well, except the cats. They need me even if they hate to admit it. And the snakes, who don't even particularly mind admitting it. There's that.

Every night I dream of being stranded in some unfamiliar place where I'm not welcome. I hope this is not becoming my mind's metaphor for the world at large.

Don't worry, got shrink appointment next week and not gonna do anything stupid in the meantime.

(The title of this entry is from Paul Theroux, though he attributes it to his possibly fictitious uncle.)