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Enraptured souls, I think that's what they called it. Ten years ago, when I was still learning what it meant to believe in something so much that you'd die for it. To believe in something so fervently that you'd kill for it too.

Last week was 9/11.

I had a doctor's appointment. A routine checkup, nothing important, not an emergency. So why the fuck did it have to be on that day? Of all the fucking days - some things should be sacred, right?

I've always been more of a brooding person than most of the people that I know. I dwell so much on things. These ideas float around in my mind and I just can't let them go.

I do cope - with television, books, games, films, podcasts, magazines. Anything to take my mind away from having to think about what's in front of me.

We're all getting older. All of us, counting down to death.

I was watching an episode of Wallander - the British adaptation - and one of the characters mentioned something called "Compassion fatigue. Victim overload."

Is that what I've got?

I'm so much happier without the news. But I feel so fucking guilty about that. How can I be happy if I know that the only reason for it, is the purposeful ignorance of others?

I need to fucking read Thoreau. Never have. Only pretended I did to get laid, but I'm still a virgin. So.

The clouds are coming back. I'm going to embrace them this time. It's just the weather, after all.

I had a really good summer - once I decided to quit my job and move, that is.

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Blogs don't exist anymore