I lay here on my bed tonight in solitude. The friends have gone out with the roommate, and that's ok. I'm not upset nor do I feel left out in the slightest. The word "loneliness" was created to describe the pain of being alone.

But this--no this is solitude. The house is dark. The fan hums ever so slowly. On the speakers, the ambient sound of Tibetan singing bowls fill the room. Apparently, chakra healing sounds. Something my friend Skitz showed me as of late, once he noticed my nerves.

"I mean, I'm just going to say it. You look like a wreck, and you've been acting like you're a wreck. Maybe not like--breaking down and crying in the gutter. You're getting stuff done. But you just look like you feel like a wreck."

Why is it that a paranoid schizo-effective man who occasionally lives at my place is able to pick up on it so easily? I'm not sure if that's a deep question or apparent to anyone who reads it.

"And anyways, I know you like chill shit when you're sleeping."

He was right there too, but everyone knew that. And so here I am. Momentarily, Tink had swung back by to get her wallet, so the tattoo artist would believe she was eighteen. She was quiet, and gone before I could finish the quote above. Outside I can hear the hum of cars wooshing along the loop, the stretch of highway surrounding the town. Wind rushes around the corner of the building outside. My favorite sound. It's almost like being surrounded by water, in a way. It moves and flows around you and, if it's strong enough, will make the corners of the rooms groan. The windows shudder. All of it part of some subtle orchestra, percussion to the strings of the wind outside.

I'll get to some other news. Soon, I'll be posting a series detailing the storm of late. The one that has come and passed, so to speak. I've finally gotten my mind together for the moment. Caught up on assignments. Turned another in. My day is free tomorrow, and I aim to be productive. Might even unhook the net for a bit. Focus on the assignments and write binge-style.

I won't have anything better to do--and that's okay. It's lots of reading and analysis and it's something I can get into, especially since there's writing at the end that allows me to go on about whatever I want. I'm in a very zen state at the moment, and it's making me think differently. I'm looking forward to tomorrow. Some part debates whether it's really me or so and so drug that's feeling nice and productive, but reality dictates that I've really been taking it easy of late. My mind is actually very clear of most substance--with the exception of the RX and lingering remnants of THC. I truly think this may be a turn for a few things, or at the very least am able to see where the next bend veers off.

Final thought for the night: Things feel better than okay.

~RDS