So we enter the realm of darkness. The underworld of the night shift, the hours of the graveyard. My loneliness is a palpable presence, a solid mass. Like rotten meat sitting in my stomach. And I'm too tired to vomit it up.

I am angry. While I'm sure there are deep-seated psychological reasons for my ire, I can't pinpoint anything in my consciousness. The mundane activities of daily living are simply beginning to piss me off.

I can't help but feel that, somehow, everything is all wrong.

In other news, I have become good at burning bridges.

As the weeks roll by, the number of unreturned voice mails sitting in my Inbox has swollen, but the number I am receiving these last few days has slowed to a trickle.

It is depressing in a lot of ways, but it reaffirms my belief that no one will really miss me when I'm gone.

The way I'm feeling right now, I would probably go out and kick puppies and beat little children if I weren't so goddamn lazy.