It Might be Quicker if You'd Shoot Me

I just lost my enthusiasm. I'm supposed to write. It's my key to getting out of the job I'm hating so much right now. It'll help justify whether or not I go to work tomorrow or just stay home and wallow around in bed all day.

I've got what Holly Golightly calls "The Mean Reds".-- You're afraid, but you don't know what you're afraid of. I need a Tiffany's when this happens. But he just left me for the weekend.(My Tiffany's) He's got family shit going down this weekend, and well-- as I've said, I'm supposed to be working Saturday and Sunday. And I can't very well ask him to stay with me just because I'm "feeling a little weird". It'll pass. It always does.
Maybe I'm just not fucked up enough.
I can fix that.