Empty

I have nothing to write about tonight.  That’s not true, it’s more like I have nothing I want to write about tonight.

I’m tired, I’m worn down.  I’ve had another in a growing string of stressful weeks at work.  I want the weekend and I want it now.  It doesn’t help that last night I managed to convince myself that it was Thursday when it was really Wednesday.  That means today is not Friday.  Urgh.

I want to play my guitar.

I don’t want to play my guitar.

I want to do something constructive.

I don’t want to do something constructive.

I have to go pick up one of the kids at the high school in about half an hour.  Until then, I will stare at the walls trying to psychically convince the paint to peel.  Wish me luck.

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