got a stupid cold, still it's better than the mother of a hangover i'd have at this point, not sleeping well, and writing like some cheap film noir main character. not really missing the billigerance of a solid drunk. just the drunk. sobriety is a little dull. what zany adventures lie in wait? and besides i seem to be getting tons of headaches. what the hell is the point? no crazy, something; no wild, whatever happens; no ... well i guess it's probably better this way in the long run. but it still seems like the sheen has been buffed off the world. that there's no joy. i feel like a kid that's just learned there's no Santa Claus. Well, that's enough of this stupidity. i'm gonna find new joy.