I am stone cold sober and yet cannot follow simple directions. I am shit. My mind is constantly elsewhere. Where is it? I have no memory of grand fantasies, or even petty fantasies. Time passes. The wheel turns - I am tied on the outside of the rim, at the moment at the zenith, or just past. Soon I will be crushed at the nadir once more. It matters not. I matter not. One more face in a sea of mediocrity. Time to read some more. Bunch of loud gay blokes on the train flirting with each other. Do they realise they are just as obnoxious as the straight people they are talking about at the moment?
Saturday, 28 August 1999
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