Escape

Nothing on TV, don’t feel like going to the library, no more books to read or reread (unless I go downstairs and open a few boxes… screw it, too much work)…

I’ll hop around the blogs, leaving small comments and lose myself in other people’s lives.

Another night at the bar for L., meaning I’ll go to bed early. Avoidance. Pathetic. Empty. Lifeless. How about cancelling the whole fucking thing, rewind, go back, erase, burn.

I’m dying here, as dry as that egg that’s threading its way to my uterus. No point in making the journey buddy. Just ask me, I’ll tell you how the story ends.

Alone.