…
I’m tapped out. The light has gone out of my eye. The spring from my step. That inner light? Snuffed out. The sheen of everything? Scrubbed clean. I suppose this is what those who experience suicidal tendencies must feel. But I’m too tired to feel suicidal.
Chalk it up to old age. Chalk it up to my uncomfortable bed and the sleep it deprives me of. Or maybe even to the monotony of the day. All are culprits in my book. It was a four-day week this week, and I can’t even believe I have to come in to work tomorrow.
I should just pop a Xanax this weekend, get a full, undisturbed day’s worth of sleep, and see if I can’t find the joy in life again. Later.
