Tapir's Flown Away.

This stress is getting to be too much to handle. I put in my two week's notice at work today, and that lightened my load a hundred-fold, but there's still so much more.

I feel like I'm slowly wearing down; I'm just waiting to look in the mirror and see grey hair. Hell, I think I've pulled a few out already. My train of though in general is no longer flowing; everything moves in quick, short bursts, in and out of my head faster than I can comprehend at most times.

I haven't even been listening to music at home as of late, and that's a bad sign. I'm not one ot be content with silence, so I sense this as an ill omen. The tides are turning against me, or some emo shit like that.

I feel as though I'm just plodding from day to day; no purpose or reason. To take the existensialist point of view, I am here simply to exist, and nothing more. And that bothers me. I need to be doing something. It doesn't even matter what, how insiginificant or major, I just need to break this work-sleep-work-sleep cycle, and fast, or else I'm going to fall victim to repetition. And that is the one thing I do not want to do. A routine is fine, but repetition is what kills the spirit. At least, in my case.

My well of words seems to be dry as of late. And just last week it was overflowing. I couldn't stop writing. Granted, my notebook looks more like abstract art than cohesive, understanable thoughts...but I was writing, that was the important thing. Now I keep starting sentences, then deleting them.

Or I just stare at this stupid blinking cursor, like it's going to give me divine inspiration. Heh. If only.

Like catching a tapir or keeping a nightmare.