I wake this morning with a nauseating headache and a budding sense of frustration that i cannot make sense of. This is not an uncommon, but rather, a familiar episode that is happening to me, as i should be so damned well aware of. Habitually, for the lack of healthier subjects and obsessions, my muse is always chained to the same mess of tendril wires. I would love to use the emptiness of my body's exhaustion as an excuse for this seemingly lack of imagination or whatever-the-fuck-you-call-it, but i know that i keep dwelling on this same sad bowl of vomit because i don’t know what else to do. It clearly demonstrates my inability to reason beyond this, whether or not i had that ability to begin with no longer matters.

People in the office must think i’m stand-offish, unapproachable and unfriendly. And i’m not being paranoid. In reality, when I’m not mulling over the same sort of things in my mind, i don’t think i’m unfriendly or arrogant. I can be shy as i rarely initiate conversations or speak when i’m in a group. This is only because i usually maintain the paranoid belief that i am either banal or superfluous in most of the things i wish to say. And hence i usually speak only when I’m spoken to.

This afternoon, many people in the office turned to look at the darkened grey skies and the rain spitting against the windows. Their eyes soon returned to their monitors and their fingers resumed tapping on their keyboards, i could have sworn that i heard a collective sigh floating up towards the tiled ceiling. Not me, though. Maybe it's because i just wasn't there today. Physically, i was at my desk. Mentally, however, your guess is as good as mine. I would love to know where my mind goes when it just wanders off somewhere on its own accord, absent without leave. I sometimes wonder if that knowledge would enlighten me, make things clearer. Probably not.

I have forgotten what the purpose of this post is. Nothing remotely interesting or inspiring of course.