Life, the Universe, and small furry things that go "wheet wheet wheet"

Sometimes, sometimes you find yourself stuck in some sort of never-going-anywhere vortex. Your days and nights blend incoherently; and it's all work. Wake up, work. Go to work, work. Get home, work. Sleep, work. Scream silently to yourself, the silence shattering as the sound resonates like a cheap tuning fork. Then the work stops. The work stops and you find that you're still screaming in your head. Like an addict the addiction gone and you just need another hit. You smoke. Not like a chimney, just a little. Enough to get a bit of a buzz, but not enough so that you're addicted, again. You don't want to be addicted, again. Not to those cancersticks of doom and gloom and ultimately, inevitably painful lingering death. Your family plans to do things, to move away from you, to leave the country. Then they don't. Then they may not move at all; or maybe they will. All the time the scream in your head is still sounding. Still pounding. Still ...

... You find that you like someone, that you like them a lot; but they leave the country. And you find yourself questioning things. I thought that one thing was true; but maybe it is? Exceptions and rules; and cancersticks and sorrow.

My furry friend, George, he goes "wheet, wheet, wheet" - a short life he has, but, he is very happy; very sweet. He reminds me of Bill. Which probably makes a lot of sense.

... I think my inner scream is hoarse. It's quiet now; but the space has been filled with the void of apathy. I'm going to try and fill it with better things; I really should do.

That's all.
M.