i'm running out of things to say these days. i'm pretty much feeling/thinking the same things i've been dwelling on for the past few weeks/months/whatever... there's no point in reiterating them. i can run through what i did yesterday and last night... i can write about how i think men's magazines suck these days... i can mention that i think i have the smallest bladder known to man... i can talk about this growing fear that i'll live a mediocre life, throw in the wish that i'll be able to lead a filthy rich life, maybe marry a sugar momma... i can whine... i can muse... i can rant... i can contemplate.

i can do a bunch of things... but i have a hard time finding the thing i want to do. if i sit still i can barely feel the rhythmic tapping in my chest... and my brain can't seem to function without echoing things four, five or six times... like i'm trying to sing a song while half a dozen people are shouting the tune at different parts.

so i'll sit at my desk.
waiting.
for some mini-bubble of an emotion to work its way up to the surface of my jello-y insides.