When it's over...

.: Yeesh. I'm tired. A little sick, too, I think.
I've been trying to combat, in some manner, the depression that has sunk into not only my friends, but myself, due to the election results. The linkage shows the interesting debate I've been having.

Sigh. It's fucking depressing. Being a cheerleader when, really, I should be advocating the end days I think. But-and here's the rub-I don't quit. If I did, I'd've stopped writing long, long ago.

I've had the adventure of a couple 'dates' in the past month. I guess they were dates. I just went out, talked and drank beer/ate food. It never felt like a date-mostly b/c I wasn't thinking; hey, this is something I'd like to turn into a romance/sex/whatever thing. I just figure-fuck it, am I having a nice time?
Nor did any kind of romance/sex/whatever type thing present itself. Women. I think they know they should avoid me right now. Maybe I should move so I can get laid again. Yes, getting laid is still something I'd like to do. Nicely, so that nobody gets hurt, but without anyone asking me for anything.

I don't feel like doing anything but dictating the terms of a relationship, right now.

I won't deny feeling all fucked up. But I really don't want to feel pathetic. Hence, I need some goddamned rest.

And I need to work on the fucking book. Time, I just need more time.