Am I a moron or what? My life is like a diluted, bawlderized version of Louis-Ferdinand Céline’s. (My other role model is, megalomaniacally, José Rizal. Frighteningly, I would say Céline’s life is the cheerier of the two.) I would probably never make it as a writer, though. I can always seem to find a Cure song that precisely expresses my misery.

Making that familiar drive back down to San Diego, I found myself in a very sullen, sulky, and brooding mood. Maybe it’s just the fact that I have to go to work tomorrow. Back to reality, I guess. No use crying over impossibilities.

hopelessly adrift in the eyes of the ghost again
down on my knees and my hands in the air again
pushing my face in the memory of you again
but i never know if it’s real
never know how i wanted to feel

My mind has been everywhere today. I suppose one of the good things about getting older is that there is a wider field for my brain to wander. I could probably keep myself usefully amused for several days just letting my thoughts meander.