I'm so sleepy. Like my mind is a pair of swollen, heavy-lidded eyes, refusing to open to the new day.

I was reading Frisk while in the toilet this morning and I read this phrase, something about assholes being unable to communicate their owners' feelings, which made me think whether the Asshole could be The Window to The Soul.

I'm certain there are morose assholes out there, or cheeky ones, or playful, or depressed...Imagine a mixed medium exhibit - photographs and text - or whatever. I don't know why I'm thinking of assholes this early in the morning. Probably because they make me happy.

I'm also thinking, God, help me get through this day, and, i hope i won't be late, and how nice it would be to go to the Library like I used to in early-spring afternoons, or go have a beer after work, let the whole thing drag till midnight...The simple pleasures in life.

I seem to be endlessly procrastinating. And now I have to go to the loo again. My stomach is a mess. I shall have to incorporate this somewhere. I'm just a struggling writer, anyway.