Sunday, 7 November 1999

Coveowl izeroni mullions tened flathful.

meta-date: Sun Nov 7 12:18:00 1999

Sitting here wasting time.  So much time to give, nothing seems worth filling it.  Wishing I had someone to waste it with.  Inspiration patchy.   Ideas are there, but refuse to be expressed.  A cloud of faeries hovering over my head - darting out of sight when ever focus is attempted. Inside I feel strangely tranquil - is it a Sunday thing?  I seem to remember last Sunday being a day of calm.   Sunday is a day of loneliness.  Saturday is not quite as bad - at least I could go shopping and lose myself in a crowd - on Sunday there are not as many shops open.   I don't really have anything I want to buy anyway - would end up buying films that I will watch only once.  Books I will never read.  CDs I will only listen to once in a blue moon.  All along the crooked way.  Had a stupid smirk on my face while I was taking the weekly picture - the one shown is actually the 4th one taken - I didn't like the other 3.  This is supposed to be a warts-n-all expression of my existence, yet I get self conscious over the picture.  Hypocrite.