I spent most of the day drinking coffee while sifting through artefacts from my thirty-something year journey through life. Each item I inspected, whether valued or not, held varying residual energy levels connected to the places and people that were once the still point of my turning world. Scrutinizing them in my hands, those I contemplated most were linked to previous relationships. Occasionally, I’d stumble upon an answer as to why they never worked out. Only, the answers would slip through my fingers before they had a chance to take hold, and I was left fumbling a melting mass of atoms I couldn’t make sense of at all. At one point, I felt so drained that I had to lie down. Looking up at the ceiling, I tried finding some sense of meaning. A state of mind in the clouds, one allowing me to cease being my own worst enemy. Drunkenness comes close to breaking those chains, but then it brings it its own problems. Love, too, opens many doors, but the doors I want to open most remain locked, hidden and lost. One day, I’ll drive myself crazy trying to figure it out; I just know I will. All I ever seem to do is piss in the wind. There’s no escaping it. Sometimes I get so low that I can’t breathe, and the waters of misery pull me under until I sink like a gangster with his feet trapped in cemented shoes. It rains. People walk past the window, cursing. I don’t have work for a few days, and I plan to do nothing. Nothing other than procrastinate and draw images where I hide initials in plain sight. If I could sleep for a week, I would. If I could bud but not flower, that would be just fine.