Blah blah blah blah

I'm in a crappy mood today. Nobody's around. It sucks. I'm lonely.

Had this ultracynical writing idea, but I won't share it here (because to me it's like letting the air out of a balloon if I talk about it). Anyway, my mood is black enough to put the idea into practice, see if I can make a story from it. The challenge will be trying to keep it the way I have it envisioned, versus letting it creep into something else. I know, that's all cryptic and what-not, but screw it. It'll either be worth reading or it won't; but the seed from which it springs is the most cynical thing I've ever planted.

In other matters, I know somebody -- I'll call her "Else" -- who sure could use a lot of therapy. A ton of it. Between OC, seething PA, and perhaps depression as a cherry on top, she just could use boodles of therapy. But she'll never do it; not unless everything implodes around her. It's very frustrating, dealing with crazy people, because they expect the world to bend to their neuroses -- maybe that's the definition of craziness, I dunno. You walk off the side of the building because you think you're immune to gravity. There is a certain malevolence to madness, because it doesn't recognize itself, has elaborate rationales up in place. I think Else should check herself into an institution, frankly, and take a break from the world, because she can't handle it, otherwise. I think she may be on antidepressants, but whatever she's on, it's not quite doing the trick -- she needs more. Of course, if I suggested that, she'd flip out and probably never speak to me again. Oh, well. It's not my business, anyway -- but I interact with her a fair amount, and often find that I have to either adapt my routines to suit her neuroses, or else butt up against them and put up with her sulking, pouting nonsense. Long-term plan is simply to disassociate myself from Else. I doubt even a therapist could really help her until she's ready to admit that she's a mess and get something done about it.