Suddenly it hits you again; it can really strike at any time; five minutes ago I was mowing the lawn - in five minutes the yawning chasm catches up with you, and you're left with that gaping hole again, trying to reach into yourself but finding that your hands can never go quite deep enough, that the world's giant phallus can't really stuff you hard enough to fill the stretching emptiness.

I'm not depressive - not at all. I'm actually remarkably well adjusted for an occasional sociopath.

And to think that, five minutes ago, while I was mowing the lawn, I decided the theme for today's entry would be 'my parents worked hard so I could be this lazy'.