All evening, in between my sunday afternoon (which are a day late due to the holiday) activities, which in my world doesn't really matter anymore. No frothy coffees at a local Chapters, no reading the weekend edition of the newspaper in bed with toast. No walking of Marble in Spring Bank park.

I know. I know. Everyone tells me I can do the same things anywhere. But it turns out, it's not the same. The feelings generated from completing those tasks isn't the feeling I used to get. There's no satisfaction.

Tonight, my first task will be to take a sleeping pill, eat some popcorn and read the new Fiona Walker book I picked up at Chapters last week. I will read until sleepy. I will then put on Identity and fall asleep while it's on.

I know it sounds pathetic, and neurotic. But, if I manage to do this without waking up at 3 in the morning, unable to fall asleep again, contemplating the meaning of life. Then I know. I feel that I will be somewhat satisfied.

My new favourite photograph is one Matt took himself. It's called Lorazepam Angel.
I can't articulate what it means to me that someone else on this planet who has everything...is in the same kind of state I am.

Labels: habits, neurotic