Tuesday.

Is it existential dread? Is it the drugs? Is it the lack?

Feels like the commas are being forgotten, the weight of the world is increasing while my shoulder is starting to give out, and I can't remember why I felt like today was ever going to be a good day. 

There's chores to do, and errands to run. And all I want to do is hide from the spotty and confusing rain clouds and sun.

But my guilt, the weight of this castle built from privilege is giving me a back ache and I know I should be doing something else. But what. What is the goal, the purpose, the final end achievement. 

I can't fucking tell. I don't fucking know. And the empty room just coughed.

Fuck everything.