And it taxes all my ingenuity to write an entry about me sitting on my butt, for hours on end playing Warcraft III, remotely entertaining. So I won't even try, not when I am so stoned and dog-tired. Especially when I cannot even form a vaguely simple sentence without it running away from me and becoming an all too complex one. Perhaps I could moan about my fat butt and the adjacent cellulite that has developed from all that sitting around. Even my butt hurts from being compressed all day. Bleah.

I did have a more interesting thought on the bus ride home. I feel like something in me has died, but I can't pinpoint what it is. And then my dogmatic self asserts itself: Not everything has to be a drama. And this vague feeling of unease and loss can be attributed to my lethargy caused by a drop in stress levels, or an after effect of anger still unpurged but somewhat diverted.

Whatever. Too sleepy to think. Am trying to avoid using the computer because I am worried that my eyesight will deteriorate further. My eyes hurt after playing Warcraft III for more than six hours. Sigh.

I hope I manage to reset my biological clock. I have high hopes for this experiment. After all I feel vaguely sleepy at 10 these few nights, so all I have to do is ensure that I am all clean and ready to pop into bed at that time and I am set. Oh, and I have been waking up at 11 no matter what time I sleep. That's a good sign eh?

Erhm. Apologies for the bad rambly state I am in right now and the really uninspired title. Isn't it funny that sometimes it no longer seems like a journal but a news bulletin? Hmmm. Which reminds me, I thought about the effects of journal writing and whether it is better to write or not, but let's leave that for another day.

Oh, and might I mention the so-girly-and-vain-to-boot question keeps reappearing in my head, "Am I pretty at all?" Bleah.