Today I feel like a fickly snowmobile.
I don't know what that is, but at the same time I don't know how I feel. Useless, perhaps, although that sounds too easy. Normally I would crawl back to bed on these days but today I have to be a social happy one and I'm not sure if I can actually pull that off. Even better, I have no energy or lust whatsoever today to really go back to bed. Does that make sense? 


I am so sorry to spoil the mood here. I just wanted to write again and in a cliché way, writing always works better when I feel blanco. As if there can only be emotions on paper and not in my head. Now that I think of it, I think I might even only write when I'm upset? That's why I don't write that often. Which is a good thing, I assume, but also a bad thing because apparently happy thoughts don't make for a nice read. 
This is unfair.