~I'm deep in one of my Most Humans Are Vile Ignorant Scum moods, which leads to Why Botherism. I'm dispirited and tired. I can't write and half the time don't care. If Le-Le didn't need me I'd likely slide into The Suicide Game. It's a game because I won't do it; I'd just pretend and that would give me a small respite.
In this place the whole idea of The Explanation seems like a nasty metaphysical joke, one designed to torment me like Sisyphus, a goal that eternally recedes toward the horizon. I feel like an idiot, like a fat old fool. My teeth hurt and I wish I could truly want to die...but I don't even have that sad desperate luxury.