Maybe I'm being melodramatic.  I feel like there're people out there with worse predicaments than mine.  There definitely are.  But you see, their lives are not mine.  Our realities are completely unsimilar. 

And for now, I am utterly exhausted and spent.  I'm not dragging my feet around, and I am not collapsing in sheer fatigue.  What I feel is a blankness and an absence in the happenings around me.  That worries me.

There are times that I hate coming home to an empty home.  But there are times that I absolutely enjoy the still of an empty house.  Today is one such day.  I take my dinner by myself, in front of the telly.  Seated haphazardly in half-work and half-home clothes, I flip channels and get acquainted with the characters in the little box.  Sometimes I feel a real closeness to fictional characters.  There is something about the contrived nature of the television wanting to bring across normalcy and natural-ness to its viewer that's really amusing to me.  I mean, that's if you watch shows that are meant to be realistic.  But even if you prefer watching fantastical shows, you put aside that certain amount of time and you seep into that fantasy, relishing the changed boundaries of what is and what is not, of what could be and what may be.   You get drawn into that reality.  Television shows and films intrigue me for such a reason. 

I have so much on my mind but I think I'll head to bed now.  I am so tired I wish I could just sleep for ages.  But bad sleep isn't considered sleep.  And somehow, I get the best sleep whilst on public transport; when I'm plugged into electronic music and traveling sideways, I fall into the deepest sleep.  This morning, I think my head was knocking into the head of the man on my right.  A part of my head hurt quite a fair bit.  After one particular heavy nod (of the head), I opened my eyes to see the man covering the left side of his head with his palm. 

I never knew I was so lethal even during my sleep.  

Off to be dangerous.