Monday, June 21, 2004
I feel like a smear of poop, which is as poetic as I can think to phrase it. I consider the myriad tasks I need to complete, and then I crawl back under the covers. Oh, woe is to me and my misery.
Damn April to theoretical Hell, and the same goes for anyone else who dares enjoy life while I wallow.
Maybe I am suited for the desert.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 2:09 PM]