"Depression is the only filler for the emptiness." - The Dave Hill

Anyone with whereabouts for the aforementioned sage should contact me pronto. Mr. Hill was for many years my guru, the holy fool who could always put things into perspective. My guess is that he's re-shaved his head, given up and gone back to school, probably the only safe place for him. Either that or he's fallen off one too many roofs and is panhandling somewhere in California, terrifying well-groomed passersby with rants so mad they can only be the truth. Whatever, as long as he's not singing anymore ...

The holiday was a blur, a necessary blur that was indeed relaxing but I didn't catch up on any writing to speak of. As soon as I was back to the temp gig I found myself shaking nervously, mind racing about everything I wasn't going to be able to accomplish after a full day of numbness. I just don't have the energy level I used to ... a natural enough phenom, but I don't seem to have more than 5 or 6 good hours in a day, and I hate having to use them up punching numbers into databases. By the time I get home I can either take care of chores or try to write (and the words don't always come). I'm cutting way back on the intoxicants to facilitate a healthier body and, theoretically, mind, but so far I'm as sluggish and dazed as ever. Nothing is worse than waking up with a hangover when you haven't had a drink in three days.