Failure.

I had an entire Saturday to myself. I was going to get so much writing done. I was going to organize my room. Somehow I managed to drop more crap on my floor and pull the pin on the lazy grenade and then fall on it. I sacrificed myself on a battlefield of candy wrappers and dirty socks for buzzfeed articles and a stomach ache from downing an entire box of kraft mac & cheese with leftover boiled horsemeat, chili powder and tomatoes. (No, ladies, he doesn’t cook.)

Now it’s 11pm and the words just start to drip—no, that’s too fluid. I feel like I’m pushing them out like the toothpaste I should have put on my toothbrush 20 minutes ago so I can go to bed, a failure.

But the bed needs to be made and that’s another chore. I’m too mentally exhausted at the moment to go to bed.

Do you ever have those days? Those evenings, where you know you just need to flip the power switch and try again another day?

Ok. The world looks like it’s going to keep on spinning a bit longer, so I think there’s another chance. (Though the ebola scaremongers would have us think otherwise.) Yes, barring ebola making its way upstream to Kyrgyzstan, I think there’s going to be another chance.

Lord—flip the switch for a few hours. I’m powering down.

Goodnight.