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There was a half hour window when I felt whatever it is that is called the "muse," but that is starting to fade quickly and actually - I think it is now gone. Well, damn.

I'm still going to write, though.

I don't have to give you a "because" for why I am still going to write. There does not need to be a because for everything we do, say, or write... Right?

There is a lot of second guessing in my life, if you haven't guessed that by now. Some call it charming, some call it frustrating, I call it familiar. I call it all I know. I call it one thing one minute and then another thing another minute.

Speaking of minutes, why is it that so many of my past (and perhaps future?) lovers and I have had a fixation on a particular time? Whether it's 3:33, 12:34, or 11:34, we have all placed some kind of mysterious significance on this time. But neither of us could explain or even try to explain the significance. And I don't think we ever will.

I am worn down. I give up for tonight. I have never been more familiar with and more distant than I am from myself. And I don't know why I bother to tell you such things. Confession? Reassurance? Boredom? Later.