I find my ebullient mood waning. After a glorious, fun, fantastic, exciting, crazy, wonderful, amazing weekend, I'm just tired.
My brain tells me that this is a temporary feeling that (more than) a little sleep will rectify. My heart is aching.
I'm disappointed with the US election results, as many non-Americans are, but I can't bring myself to be overly heart-sick about it. They made their own bed, and now they have to lie in it, as the expression goes. It's just too bad that they force the rest of us into the same room to listen to them snore.
I had previously written about 20 minutes of stream of consciousness, but it has since all gone missing.
I can't write anymore. It feels futile.