Flat

Last night the ennui hit hard. My utter disdain for Natasha Hentsridge's haircut in the late night badness that was "Caracara... or... The Last Witness" was not great enough to get me to go to sleep. After all, I found myself asking, what was the point? It wasn't like I had anything to do in the morning. Sometimes excessive freedom is like a noose around your neck stopping you from doing anything at all.

Except watch bad t.v. and blog, obviously.