What's the point in ten years of scars?

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Today was a troublesome day.

I've been up since very early, and now I can't sleep. I had a long and unproductive day in work, only slightly enhanced by this mornings comedic fashion accident. I try not to suffer the persistence of fools, but sometimes I find it extremely difficult. I held my breath and bit my tongue for most of the afternoon, both literally and metaphorically.

I was supposed to do some work on my car when I got in, but it was pretty late, and so I watched the Tony Robinson documentary about how the Earth was shaped by catastrophic collisions instead. It was pretty good, but even there I found something to bitch about. They had this astrophysicist on it who's job it was to shoot at the moon with a billion watt space laser. That's his fucking job. Trying to get the internet to do what I want seems to pale into insignificance beside the majesty of it.

I had some fun with Cindy playing Left 4 Dead after that, but when we finished up my evening went on kind of a downward spiral.  I said I was going to bed more than 2 ¹/₂ hours ago, but here I am. Still wide awake and thinking. I don't talk much about my personal life in the public domain, because it IS personal, but right now, I'm very conflicted.

I want to be less bitter.

I want to poison the world.

I don't know which I want more. It's not so long ago that everything was so much simpler. 

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