Oh, that does it.

I like to go out because if I don't, I'll start thinking. Not about something important, but just being introspective, just being overwhelmingly preoccupied with my failings in the past and probably failings in the future. It's got me again, and there is nothing right with the world because there is nothing right with me. A drink would do a world of wonder right now, or at least put some wonder back into the grey, lusterless horizon behind, and all the way through to the one ahead. Anything, really, to not be sober and escape this whole idea that things are more real because they seem more grave. The weight of things can be deceptive at times, and when things seem heavy, they seem more substantive, and therefore somehow more true. Sometimes, the need is there, just to get away, take a load off my shoulders, and stretch out. But here I am, ending another night with images of larger than life, truer than true faults and upcoming cataclysm simply for who I am.

It's strange to recognize the absurd proportions and not be able to shake them.