I think it’s springtime, but I’m not sure. The weather forecast is three days of rain at fifty degrees. My forecast only goes out three days, so it could be more than that.

I was thinking about the holocaust, Judas sampler when four priests approached me to explain the sins of our fathers on a rainy street corner. They said he’d give me eternal life if I just repent, and I told them that’s not long enough. Of course, I don’t buy their lies anyway. It’s cheaper to think alone.

I mean drink alone. That’s what I do, maybe an unequal amount of either. Of course, then again, we all know the truth about alcohol. What makes us forget is the reason we want to forget anything at all.

Demon poison! My only issue sometimes is that I wake up, that I can’t drink myself into an eternal slumbering stupor. Just forced to suck in the rain, the grayness and fog when I wake up at 8 p.m. and my body wants to watch TV and my mind craves the Internet and neither are satisfied by the actions of the other and I can’t drink anymore and there’s only a bit of weed left before I run out and my paychecks aren’t deep enough to sustain this habit. I may just move out. Live in the truck.

Just a fantasy. I can’t live in a vehicle. I enjoy private restrooms too much.

And then I’m back to where I started. God damn. I can’t deal with it much longer. I feel like I’m going to go crazy, man. Literally crazy, like madness and all.

I suffer from a genetic malaise of general complacency, a lack of desire to come up any higher than I am – not desire, but will. The right, or rather the wrong, instincts to drive forward instead of parking to nap. Drive, always driving. When I get in that mindset I am all gears turning. The next day, one turns. Some days, no turning at all. Some days, only depression. Others, mania. Up and down, I go back and forth and I used to think writing my way in and out of these problems was both cause and solution but I see now it’s a condition that follows me always. I will never make it out alive. Never.

I have to! But I won’t.

People die, dreams undone – will that be me? Is it already? Who am I? Who wasn’t I?

Jesus God! Will it ever end? This depression, I want only to sleep. I crave peace and comfort, warmth and tranquility. I need her shoulder back to lie on, where I felt so strong without it, but when I had it – now there is only weakness.

For all the money in the world I would give up to live the life of subtle zen, of marijuana and videogames and rejecting good sex because I was more obliged to my sloth-like tendencies from which I now suffer endlessly. I am just tired and weak nowadays, like a sickness has grabbed a hold of me and wants to make me its bitch.

How can I work around it? How will I come out of it?

I need a nap.