Crazy.

I am being eaten alive by my own anxiety. Self-doubt and insecurity are seriously rattling my cage. If things get too quiet and I let my mind wander, traitorous thoughts snake their way to the center of my attention. When I close my eyes I am nauseated by abhorrent mental images. Softly, silently, I am going fucking crazy. If I don't get riotously drunk and punch something soon I fear I shall self-labotomize.

Not that I can actually pinpoint what these terrible thoughts are, exactly. I know their source (their terrible, terrible source), but I can't explain, not even to myself, what is actually bothering me. Most upsetting of all though, is that my neurotic behaviour made Grace cry. Beloved Grace, center of my world, despaired upon encountering my emotional torpor, believing herself to be the cause. I am a bastard.

She's not, though, not really. Right now her pleasant company is all that's keeping me from sawing the top of my own goddamn head off. Unfortunately for the top of my own goddamn head, she's not actually in the city right now, she's visiting her family in the afore-mentioned Place Of Cows. I should have gone with her, but I had too much crazy to get through here.

Anyway, things have been mostly pleasant around here. We had a great meal at a Hare Krishna restaurant on Saturday, but I was disappointed by the lack of top-knot hairstyles. I think I saw one guy with one, but he was talking on a cellphone and it ruined the whole aesthetic for me. Nonetheless, those Krishnas can cook. Makes that sandwich shop run by Scientologists look like a pile of crap.

Grace asked me whether I will visit her when she returns on Tuesday night, but Tuesday night is Guinness Pie night, and Guinness Pie cannot be denied. She flashed a wicked knowing grin and observed that Guinness Pie must be the most amazing food in the world. It is, but having considered what I'm giving up for it that night, I don't think my priorities are in the right order.

-L