I'm having this phase again. You know, when you get to thinking if this is what you want with your life. When you're just plain tired. And you trudge. And you can't imagine why the hell you're waking up the next day. And why in the world you're even considering going about that day you've involuntarily woken up into.

That plus none of my doses of happiness (a.k.a. cameras being shipped from the eBay people) have arrived. Sigh. I AM SO FUCKING TIRED. I can't even express how exhausted I am. And that's just after returning from a beached weekend. I wish I never had to go back. I wish the ocean just ate me up. That the sun just burned me to death. I used up the happiness that the beach gave me.

I am working over the weekend. Practically a 14-day work week. Can you imagine that. That's just crazy. I wish I was just some Vanna White person whose job was to flip the letters in some game show. She gets pretty dresses too.

I NEED HAPPINESS!!! Fucker.

Anyway, I decided to open up a random book. Let the random book be a collection of Pablo Neruda's poetry. This is what it told me:

LXX

Maybe - though I do not bleed - I am wounded, walking
along one of the rays of your life.
In the middle of the jungle the water stops me,
the rain that falls with its sky.

Then I tough the heart that fell, raining:
there I know it was your eyes
that pierced me, into my grief's vast hinterlands.
And only a shadow's whisper appears,

Who is it? Who is it? But it has no name,
the leaf or dark that patters
in the middle of the jungle, deaf along the paths:

so, my love, I knew that I was wounded,
and no one spoke there except the shadows,
the wandering night, the kiss of the rain.



I don't know what this means now. I'm going to sleep. Goodnight people.