I feel like Sausalito. The slow fog rolling down the side of the hill covers everything, hidden behind something eerie and beautiful at the same time. A certain safety in the release from view, even if I know it's still there. I feel, or not feel really, the novacaine in a lower lip. I read the pages of a book, and realise I have to read it all over again because nothing has registered....

I feel dizzy, and pointless; emotionless. I feel blank. Hearing underwater.

And feel is entirely the wrong word. I am writing this and it has no connection to what it is I'm NOT feeling, in a sense. To what it is I let go.

One tiny blue pill, one tiny concession on the battle uphill, but more on that tomorrow I think.....

Back to the blank pages of the nameless book in the colorless sleeve.