Saturday was not fun. Writing for the fortean site was difficult for me despite the links definitely being in my wheelhouse. Recounted a nightmare which sidetracked me with self-reflection, then I got stoned. Sat on the tiny back deck in the big wicker chair, ate my lunch, smoked some more, fell asleep but felt restless, came back in then decided to have yet another nap since the day was gray with potential to be drizzly.

This was not ideal but I couldn't think of anything else to do. While I laid in my bed, I was full of thoughts about my failure at life. Not at marriage, just life. Thoughts of Lovecraft-tier crushing poverty. World war. Right now as I write this I am beating myself up, emphasizing a lack of hope in life, and general nonsense.

Thing is, October has been going manageably well. I haven't had those profound lows from previous years, but I can still feel something swimming in my depths waiting to break the surface.

I reached out to some people. Most responded. I explained I reached out because I was way deep in my head and wanted to get out by demonstrating I care as much for other people as I do for myself. One person cut the conversation short because they were at some event in Cape May. That stung. As I write this, I'm still a mastodon sinking slowly in a tar pit.

Right now it's 9:33 p.m. EDT on 10/23/2021 and I'm in Neptune, NJ. I'm drinking mango juice and smoking dope. My box fan is blowing against my legs. The window to my right is open to admit the night air. Tomorrow I make a quick stop to pick up dope from my dealer. I was running low, but I saw my dealer was going through some tough times and figured it was best to make my order sooner than later. After that, I'm going to meet with Bloomfield and hang out. Hopefully being around another human being, a friend, will lift my spirits. Deep down I don't want Bloomfield to see this entry because I don't want Bloomfield to feel put-upon.

I have no expectations.

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