The end of this tedium is nigh and already I am missing it. Tomorrow there will be no more cloaking myself in the make-believe night of drawn curtains, there will be no more five hour afternoon naps interspersed with daytime TV in the comfort of a bedroom cooled by an air-conditioner that has not seen rest for nearly a month. Tomorrow I face the mess I've made of my life and I clean it up. No psycho-babble necessary. No more 'pin the blame' games. I've indulged in the willful ignorance of my own weaknesses for too long. I already know what needs to be done. I have to be prepared, be organized, be focused, everything I was not for the last six months. I knew all this before my life went into a free fall, and I alone let it snow-ball to where I am right now, lengthening the shadows of the long day's journey into night. Have I come to the ends of the earth and realized it is indeed flat and imagined that all can be finished by a step into that seductive blackness where the oceans fall in an eternal waterfall? I think so. And it's suddenly so clear, that nothing can be truly finished, that the end of all sensation that this black void promises is all counterfeit. So tomorrow I turn against its pull and begin the long return from tedium. Sure, what awaits me may not, probably will not heal the crevasse inside of me, will probably rip me apart even more, and I know it is likely not a kind father who awaits his prodigal son at journey's end. But so what? I give up. "You give up?" Yes, I am pathetic and a loser and I give up. "You know, I gave up years ago, and that has been the key to my happiness."