Yesterday a new neighbor in our apartment building knocked on our door to introduce himself and let us know he was planning a small party next Monday, so if the gathering got too loud to not hesitate to say so. As he was a stranger, I regarded him with suspicion and doubt until he left, at which point I realized that he was only doing what every respectful neighbor should do in such circumstances … what have I become? What the hell is wrong with me?

Well, it’s no excuse, but my nerves have been shredded as of late. I’ve been sleeping badly, plagued by vague nightmares in which the only threat is dread itself. Plus this cast in my mouth is killing me … the surgery itself and its aftermath was relatively painless, the torture comes from having stiff plastic wrapped around my teeth and adhered to the roof of my mouth. My tongue is raw from constant exposure and eating is difficult, which for someone like me with a sporadic appetite equals malnutrition. Work at the office is oppressive, moreso than usual, so I’m doubting my worth as a productive adult and despairing of spending the next twenty years (if I’m lucky enough to live and remain employed that long) in fluorescent cubicles. Lori aside, the band is the only thing I feel confident about – we sound great and we look great and I don’t care who disagrees with me. After so many long months of worry over The End Times’ future, this strength buoys me. But I still feel like biting someone.