I've been down in the dumps for a couple weeks. I haven't been doing the exercize I promised myself. I've used no discipline when it comes to money. I started smoking again. I'm disappointed in myself. When I get like this, I let filth accrue in my room. This tends to amplify my mood until anger snaps me back to reality.

My room is a wreck. Old french fries are turning green and white. Ashtrays are overflowing. Candy wrappers and cellophanes peek out from under chair cushions. My clothes lay in heaps, clean and dirty intermingled. I have no enthusiam, energy, or desire. Frequently I get home from work and go straight to sleep. My mattress is leaning up against the wall, so I sleep on the hard floor, sweating in the heat, itching at the cracked CD cases digging into my legs. I've averaged ten to twelve hours of sleep a night. I am lethargy incarnate.

My life is decent. I have no excuse to feel sorry for myself. I've let frustrations and setbacks combine, creating a potent mixture of dejection and laziness. I need a good kick in the ass. Or the face.

That's why I need to bring Bucky Fuller back to life. Listen to this:

"In 1927, at the age of 32, Buckminster Fuller stood on the shores of Lake Michigan, prepared to throw himself into the freezing waters. His first child had died. He was bankrupt, discredited and jobless, and he had a wife and new-born daughter. On the verge of suicide, it suddenly struck him that his life belonged, not to himself, but to the universe."


"You monsters! How dare you use my geodesic dome for Epcot Center! I have 25 patents! I wrote 28 books! I circled the globe 58 times! I'm goddamned feisty! My dome is a triumph of mathematics, not an emblem for Mickey fucking Mouse! My teardrop aerocar-"

BzzZZzz-psSHT! Crackle.

Damn. The alternator again. Maybe this wasn't the best way to drag myself out of my malaise. If Fuller taught me anything, it's that all change starts with me. Not with reanimated codgers from a monochrome past. I'll have to come up with something all by my lonesome. Maybe I'll go swimming while drunk. Or fast for a week. I could try my hand at graffiti. Something will cheer me up.

Sorry Buck. I'm putting you back. The world will have to go on without you again, and so will I. I hope I didn't singe your maggots too severely.

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9:32 AM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm