tales from an ordinary world

2002-11-05

One of the fans in my computer is making a particular, unhappy droning-insect sound, as if to warn me against sitting here again in the evening. The CD stops but I can't replace it, my other new purchases will better fit some other, quite different mood. I'm alone, and now there's nothing but the sound of computer hardware and the occasional creak of the chair.

I don't want to be here.

I don't know where I want to be.

I'm alone, and now my head is throbbing for no particular reason. I'll iron a shirt, I'll lie down, and I'll wait for better times.