I haven't daylogged in a while. Some days are better than others.

I wake up, I go to work. I wait for school to begin, when I can yet again question why I'm going for my masters in literature, since I have no desire to teach. I make very little money working in a bookstore, and spend most of my time scribbling notes on pieces of paper and reading books while I'm supposed to be working.

I've been rejected again. Let's see--since this time last year, it's been three homosexuals (obviously I'm clueless), two friends who weren't interested, a co-worker, and a guy I met at the club.

Everything I write seems to be crap these days. I can't seem to come up with one decent poem, one finished play, one simple song. I'm stuck. Blocked.

I go outside and look at the snow. Birds fly around. I wish I was one, able to simply up and fly away. No luck, unless you believe in reincarnation.

It'll pass, I suppose; the depression, though not the lonliness. I'm listening to a lot of Cure, Smiths, and Elliott Smith lately.

But what the hell--I hear Royal Tenenbaums is good, so maybe I'll get off my lazy ass and go to the movies.

thanks to cbustapeck and VT_hawkeye for their kind /msgs. It does help.