So tired. So many things to do.

I really wish that I can be a little more glib. I wish that I can joke a little, be a little bit more interesting. But I'm not.

I feel like a chunk of wood sometimes. Just lumbering around, absorbed in my own thoughts. Thoughts that congeal and jam up my brain matter the moment I try to vocalize them - they end up coming out in little mumbled verses, in descending volume and tone. And I'd know that whoever I'm speaking to, can't hear me - and I'd try to raise my voice a little. And end up sounding like I'm shouting.

I would like to, you know, stop trying so hard. And just let everything slide.

My insecurities have taken a backseat in my mind. It's sitting there, not making much noise. But it's still there. A lurking, unwelcome passenger. I would like to pinch him up with a giant pair of clippers, and drop him off the roadside kicking and screaming.

Hell, that'd be a hoot.