How did life get so short?

How did I end up with so little writing in my journal?
Am I getting more private? Less of a loudmouth? Nah, that couldn't be it.

Finally, without much preamble, homely. A pattern emerges, of sleeping, waking, working, taking things to Wes. sleeping at Mark's. Eating , going back to work again. it's dull as dirt, but it's a safe place.

The silence is deafening. I'd be upset if I weren't so relieved.

computer block

I've got it again. I thought all these things I wanted to write all day, even jotted down a few notes, and now my head is just empty.

(no subject)

I think to myself whether I should do something stupid. The answer I get is "Yes, ASAP."

Things are good. Life is good.