It's a stark, bleak Thursday. I'm a dull blade. The car took a shit on me yesterday, so I celebrated by going to a fancy restaurant. I ate many different fried underwater creatures. I've recently begun celebrating disasters as well as triumphs. It's sort of a cackling half-crazy reaction to fear. I adopted "worry is waste" as my mantra a few weeks ago, but as of yesterday I've had trouble living by it. I've got two weeks left here, and after that I hope that unemployment will carry me for a short while. If by some miracle my company's contract renews, I'll be a resignation as opposed to a layoff and unemployment may not exist for me. If that's the case, I figure I'll run away and join the circus. I'll apprentice myself to the sword swallower. Maybe I'll be a clown on stilts. I'm really good at those.

Somehow I've lost my mental balance. My self-declared invulnerability has morphed me into a balloon, and the slightest gust could land me deflated in the Artic Circle. If the future is a rampaging child, I'll be popped in no time.

All the same, I'm not ready to cash in my chips. If I go back to worry, I'll be worse than a balloon. I'll be chocolate in sunlight. A sludgy brown mass, a dripping puddle on a foil wrapper. Vague resemblance to diarrhea. It may be sweet but you sure don't want to touch it. No thanks. I'll keep my naive mental retard grin glued on for now. Hear no, see no. Some call it blindness, others call it focus.

Eeeeeeeeee. Somebody beat me with an iron bar.
11:14 AM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm