I can't shake this feeling. It follows me all day into the night. I sleep and have strange dreams I can't remember, don't want to. The gray sky overhead weighs down on me, but I still can't find any one thing that makes me feel this way. Perhaps, it's the feeling of staring at the typewriter and wondering what the hell I'm doing, who am I kidding?

Fingers cold and unsteady, shaking with anxiousness. Goose bumps up and down my arms. Heart rate going fast enough to stop the band. Am I having a heart attack? Why can't I relax, enjoy the day off? Instead, feel nothing but confusion and doubt. I feel like fleeing, but to where? Why?

Read the newspaper. Feel sick. The only thing that changes from day to day is the number of people killed, who's sleeping with who. I don't care. Fuck the world. But I can't say that, know there is beauty somewhere and that someone is trying to change it, make it better. Not me. I sit here and shake from the cold that seems to come more from inside than out.

Chain smoking cigarettes. Coughing. I don't even want to die. Stare off into space for a while. Blink back tears. What was I thinking? Can't remember. The ghost of myself haunts me, whispers in my ear snippets of conversation taken out of context.

"What did you say?" I say.

Only silence and the droning of traffic outside my window. I'm using incomplete sentences. Fuck it. "Did you say something?" No answer. I watch a dust mote float through the light. Where did I go just now? A part of me wants to jump up and laugh hysterically for no reason. Another part wants sit and watch with a quizzical look on my face. Can I be in two places at once?

"I said, "What the fuck is wrong with you"?"

"I don't remember that," I say. I don't. Who said it? Was that me? I listen, but there's nothing there. A car drives by. It drones off into the night going somewhere else. Did I just smoke a cigarette? I can't remember.