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2002-08-06 - 9:57 p.m.
The thing about solitude is that it gives you time to think. That�s great if you have positive things to think about. The thing is, the maelstrom whirling around in my head is full of regrets, sad memories, anxiety, fear, resentment, and utter rage.
It�s no wonder, then, that I fill my waking hours with distractions. Media, media, media. The more immersive the better. Cathartic too. Nothing like some good old fashioned TV or movie violence to vent by proxy. Something compelling, a good movie or novel, something that won�t let me ponder my own life.
So laying in my bed, in my oh-so-quiet new surroundings without anesthetic to dash me off to that uber-media of dreams is dreadful. If my work-ethic duty didn�t require that I follow a schedule to get the rest I need to do my job, I�d be filling my head with the emptiness of someone else�s dreams so that I wouldn�t have to face my thoughts. Until finally in the wee hours the fatigue is such that unconsciousness is a simple matter of resting my head on my pillow.
Good night.
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So, how do you like them apples?