Early Saturday

The solar-powered lanterns outside are casting blue ghost-glow, early in the morning. Doesn't feel like a new day to me -- just more of the cold glass night.

Was re-reading Simmons' The Hollow Man on the couch for most of the evening. Seemed fitting. Oddly enough the action in the novel starts out on an "unusually warm Easter weekend". That fit, too. Except for the warmth.

I should be sleeping now, but sleep (like a lot of things in me at the moment) is jumbled and unsettled. I don't feel attached to the world in any real way.

Kind of like a ghost light, myself.

At some point, here, I'm going to get wasted.