Everything's good. It's so good, that I don't really feel like I'm at ease. Normally I'm worried about things. Constantly thinking, plotting, fantasizing. When I'm stuck in traffic on the way to/from the office, I try to think about my social manipulation techniques...how to better get what I want out of people. I don' t think that it necessarily makes me a bad person...hell, isn't that what being an American is about? Working hard (or benefitting from someone else's hard work) and getting ahead? It's all a big game. No, it's all a big, cruel joke. When I watch television and see Governor Arnold Schwarzeneggar talking about how "the democrats are addicted to spending...they need to go to an addiction place," my heart swells up with something and I just want to get high and stuff my face with nachos and watch Total Recall and clap my hands in delight during the scene where arnold uses the civilian on the escalator as a human shield. So really, I'm completely fine with the world I live in. Because I have a lot of awesome stuff. And soon I'll have more. But to do that I need to turn things around and make up for recent mental vacations. I'm going to work really hard in the office to make up for my weirdo antics. I got into some trouble a few weeks ago where I had an assignment to find appropriate stock imagery for this client presentation we had coming up. I completey spaced out and wasted four hours by collecting nothing but photos of orangutans/chimps/baboons/etc and really old, wrinkly chinese women. I would have been in a lot of trouble (I've heard that the company is looking to let a few people go) but somehow I talked my way out of it. I told my manager that my meds got all screwed up and it has resulted in difficulty in concentration and a loss of general understanding. He gave me a personal day. I spent it at home, on the computer all day, subscribing to more internet amateur pornography websites: "bookworm bitches," "black bros, white hoes," and "bangboat." It really cleared my head. The booger joke at work was the only subsequent boobery since then, and I don't think anyone caught on that I was doing it on purpose. So the work situation is improving. I'm definately trying a lot harder. My kitty, the Judge, aka Johnny Panzer, aka Shakie Wilcox, aka Mussolini, is doing very well. He's so full of spunk. Holding him really makes me not hate everything. And I've started having intercourse again.