SLOUGH
I haven’t been wanting to come here and write. I haven’t been wanting to write anywhere. It’s spring, and the sun is shining nearly every day and the sky is blue and the crocus are up and the daffodils are coming and I don’t know what is wrong with me. I’m lethargic and grumpy and full of something that smells suspiciously like despair. It’s completely idiotic, and I know it, but for whatever reason, it keeps overpowering me. I feel old and slow and uncool and worried and tired and fat and helpless to make others happy. So. Here’s what...