Breaching the Lower Limits of Boring. Sorry.

I can't say how tired I am right now. Words fail me. For the first time in my life, my trusty sidekick, my faithful standby, my most valuable tool—the ancient craft of written language—is failing me. I am that tired. Actually no I'm probably fine. It woke me up a bit to try to figure out as complicated a way to exaggerate that as possible. Meaning, we're ready to roll.

Medicine is a funny thing. It totally messes with your system one day and grants you salvation the next. I'm on some medicine for which I had the dosage increased last week, and yesterday it started making me sick. I called the doctor and changed my prescription back to where it had been, but the damage was done. No, that's being melodramatic again. Everything worked out fine, and I didn't get that sick, but it was a little annoying. There, I said it. The weakness of my mortal frame bothers me sometimes. We were all thinking it.

"Stream of consciousness," as a friend dubbed this writing style to me yesterday, is one of the best ways to write, I've decided. I mean, that's pretty much how I've written in my journal for the last couple of years, and it's always a pleasure to go back and reread. Although I am typically blown away by how trivial things were back then, and how much weight I would give things that weren't really important or didn't end up being that big of a deal. I mean, I really miss the big picture when I write in my journal. It's normally a detailed dispatch of the day's activities, when the day wasn't really that interesting. I can pretty much summarize my method for crafting entries thus: "not much happening these days; here's an overly detailed description of the aforementioned non-happenings; I should really write more often in my journal."

Does anybody else ever worry about huge things that take up a ton of mental capital for you, but in the end you bring it up with nobody at all? Because, let's face it, nobody really cares. (Thank you, Gollum-brain, for that one.) So instead you just take the amount of worry you have been expending, remove the reasons that justify the worry, fill it back up with trivialities that anybody can relate to but that won't make them wish you weren't talking to them, and find yourself being upset about things you don't actually care about? I do. Maybe it's just me, but it's like I have a misery quota that is, each new day, my top number one urgent priority to fill up, even if I have to fudge the numbers a bit to come up with something to be miserable about. Worry waits for no man. I'm sure this is standard to the human condition, yeah? Nobody? Okay cool then, me neither. Glad we worked that out. Just one of those, uh, jokes, you know. Gotcha.

Okay let's talk about happiness, on the other hand! If all the raindrops were lemon drops and gum drops, that would be a totally sick rain. If a butterfly can reach the top of a double rainbow and the sunlight strikes it just so, we get a unicorn. You can't explain that.

Well, cool. Pretty sure we unraveled some of the more mysterious threads in the tapestry of mortality today. And you got to be a part of it. I'm so jealous. Let's blame it on the cat if we get in trouble for it. All agreed?