#$%&!

I feel like a vat, just collecting fat, lying here in bed, which has become more than bed, it's become my desk, my bookshelf, my make-up counter. It's as if I'm back to dorm life and need everything to be within an arm's reach.

Only sick people, people with colds, live like this. Except I have no Kleenex, no cold to speak of. With everything I need just a brief reach away, you'd think I'd have just that -- everything -- but there's so much I can't find. My driver's license for instance. Where the hell is it? I should report it lost. But it's Saturday, the offices are closed. I can't do a damn thing about it. Not even let the irritation poke through this tight cloud of apathy, cause if it did what good would it do?

Ugh. I hate pointless days like this that feel like a complete waste and leave me feeling ungrateful for feeling it.

Maybe I'll start a novel.