I've got that satisfied irritability eating away at my brain, I got enough sleep last night, had little trouble scraping the frost from my car despite radio warnings, got to work later than usual but to the usual warm greetings and had no trouble falling into the flow of things.
Everything is so infuriatingly fine, and I can't believe I'm complaining. I have nothing to say. Cigarette conversations going on around me and I'm staring at the garage-door wiring realizing that I have nothing to say.
Lunch was good. My project looks good. The meeting was good. The tea I had for breakfast was good.
So far today has been one of those days completely outside my control. I haven't chosen anything, decided anything, since I kissed my roommate this morning until this very moment, I have done absolutely nothing to merit being alive today.
Well, alright. I changed all the preferences on the windows box they make me use on occasion, so that when I open up a text editor (like I did just now) it's green text on black background. It's much more comfortable this way.
Aside from that, mes chers, today hasn't happened yet.
Maybe it's time for coffee and nicotine and that familiar vibrating that starts in my bones will wake me up some.
Because right now I'm smiling but I really want to hit someone.
Y'know, kick the shit out of someone utterly stupid, but do it grinning happily the entire time.
Yikes, this is like the way it was in High School, when the monstre was perpetually bored.
I live in fear of boredom, maybe it's because there really is something wrong with my insides.
If I stand too still, I might break something.