I could blame the sugar-ladened canned coffee, but somehow I don't think that would be fair.

Holding the (monthly) hormonal fluctuations accountable might just be a wee bit more realistic, though I strongly suspect that it's still not entirely true.

What do these cycles really do to one's psyche anyway? Turn us into unrecognisable and demented emo-monsters? Or do they simply amplify what nasty traits that we already possess...

PMS agonies aside... Unlike the naturally waning effects of the potent sugar-caffeine mix, there are certain things I desperately need to clear from my system. But silence continues to reign - a tight plug imprisoning the never-vocalised words. And if it is to remain that way, Lord, grant me the serenity to soldier on...

Restlessness. Come. Take a walk with me. Shelve all the worries about conversations and the like - words don't matter. Let our feet do the prattling instead. Concrete pavements, muddy trails, anywhere. Discover new things about old places. Find a set of swings and whoop like kids as our stomachs tie themselves in knots on the accelerating descents. Frivolity? Nay, I say.

But stupidity. Ah. Now THAT is something that's yet to ascertained. But even if foolishness weren't a crime, feeling like a fool all the while does absolutely nothing to lift one's spirits.