scale of -10 to +10, how do you feel right now?

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I'm good, I've been good for a long time now (forever?).

I finally put my sword back together with the tsuka I made from a felled tree (grip); all that's left is the saya (sheath), which I'm going to paint purple. I hate the thing, but I adorn it with my favorite color (there's a point there, somewhere).

I'm going to Attwood's and the museum tomorrow.

-10.
f**k life,
f**k the universe,
f**k everything,
(f**k James, right now),
I. Am. Fed. Up. With. All. Of It.

Bad day, huh?

There's still some light, no matter how dark the tunnel is.

Good day in general, just one incident.

Dead cert +10.
I finally plucked up the courage to talk to my best friend about how I feel, and it turns out she feels exactly the same way. Wheeeeeeeeeeee, I'm over the moooooooon!

-2: slightly worst than indifference, but not truly in the gutter (yet).

a 10 right now but then again I'm manic right now so that might not count

4.75
I hate Mondays but being productive will keep me busy.

-2.
So fed up of being exhausted and unable to read.

+5.5 <- Here’s half point extra for humanity (though I suspect GoatOnFire will be angry with me for that .)

I happen to be a writer, both by trade and hobby. I recently went through a dark time, and correspondingly had written some pretty dark ramblings in one of my blogs. An old high-school friend of mine, someone I've known for, oh, 20 years or so, saw what I wrote and has been giving me grief about some of my more recent, darker writings. I've grown weary of trying to explain the catharsis of writing to him. Apparently I really am a scary person sometimes, even to old friends. <sigh> And I’ve grown rather annoyed over his stark lack of any understanding of me, one that I see ever reflected in humanity. I seem to have this oddly inverse quality to me; the longer you know me, the less well you'll know me, because the more you know me, the more I will tend to be my true self, who is someone who cannot exist here. It's all very strange, and a curse...

So I head back to work today, after taking off last week to do battle with the darkness. One of my work friends had also been reading said mad ramblings from last week, and had even dropped me a quick line about them. He stopped by my office to say "Hi." and see how I was doing (Icarus is always good for an hour or two chat).

So I look at him and sarcastically say, "What, you're not afraid I'm going to go postal on you or something after reading my most recent works?”

He looked at me, a bit oddly, and said, "What? No, of course not. You're a writer; that's how writers work through the problems - by writing about them. And we all go through troubled times; that’s what gives writers something of worth to write about…' And I swear to the gods I had to restrain myself from hugging him when he said that without me needing to explain, explain, endlessly explain. It was so nice to have someone, a human no less, believe in me, for no other reason than that he did... My work friend, I should mention, is a fellow writer; he's currently working on a fantasy novel and I'm providing the character material for the troubled rouge. [Who I suspect will end up saving the world. ]

Thus comes flying back to me, unbidden, a spark of faith in mankind.

Good fortune,

- Icarus runs and leaps onto the altar...

8

I'm good. Getting a tad hungry though.

5

I went for a nice jog today, and got a 91 on my French test, and got a 100 on an economics quiz today.

Tim

-5

Depressed, bored, irritated and lonely

3. I have a virus and I feel like a corpse with a pulse.