I need a little romance. I need a girl to bleed out in my arms. I need to be tragic hero or a martyr. I need some drama and some character development. Right now, I’m sat here in yesterday’s clothes, wondering if I should make a sandwich before tomorrow starts. I’m listening to music and making profound hand movements that are more ’80s nightclub than Zen meditation. I’m giving the bare walls wistful looks and trying to explain to my empty flat just how deep I am. Various parts of my anatomy itch intermittently. It’s that time of early morning where nothing’s happening. Even the people sat in their far-off timezones are winding down for the evening or preparing for the long weekday ahead. No one’s here to pander to me and console me. There’s important or things I could be doing. I could be e-mailing important people and getting important pieces of my life sorted. I could be proactive and set out to create something. I could be educated and read something grand and interesting and intellectual. I could divulge in some classics, modern and retro. I could do so much (though nothing too loud). Instead I’m still just undecided about that sandwich.

-Alice