Just some thoughts I may or may not expand on later, nothing special. Posted below because the computer is being wonky.

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It's hard to be terribly dismal when the sun is out. The light washes away the darkness, drives back the brooding melancholia of the witching hour. Birds sing, and there is an incessant amount of work to be done. Tasks, that while while infinitesimal, never quite subside. Too busy to think properly.

It is in the wee small hours in which I often find myself awake, trapped within the confines of my own mind. When the house is quiet, the timber itself not daring to shift and break the spell. The silence between thoughts brings true stillness, implacable and heavy as the looming fog without the walls; ephemeral, yet impenetrable. Within the hush I enshroud myself as though cowled, attempting in vain to secrete myself way from the darkest part of my psyche. The part that whispers in my ear that I am forgotten, or rather, that I have forgotten, in some Cartesian twist of logic. What happens if even your imaginary friends don't speak to you anymore?

What is purpose or worth, beyond the next shot, or drag, or task? Perhaps... They are only what we make of them and ascribe some intrinsic value to; if only trodding through a new day, each reminiscent of the last in mind-numbing drudgery. Not searching for happiness, but simply distraction.

Ah, but the sun shines and burns away the mist. The coffee pot gurgles its warmth into the carafe, the birds awake and trill, going about their own businesses. And as always, there is work to be done.

Heigh-ho.