Back to work with a headache, a backpack full of pills, and the last hurrah of a three day hangover still in my bloodstream. Sat through slideshow after slideshow after slideshow and slowly and methodically picked away the skin from around my fingernails. Distracted myself through important meetings by thinking about the awesome lives I could be living (all of them imaginary and terribly impossible, of course). Richard Brautigan killed himself September 14th, David Foster Wallace September 12th. Two of the only men who ever stood by me, two of the only men I ever felt even vaguely on the same page as. September is always the saddest month, but I guess I have some things to look forward to - my friends coming together in the same town for a weekend, a roadtrip to Newcastle, maybe even crashing with another friend in Berlin. I'm just gonna drink myself through this month, make it to October and then figure shit out. My life? I keep thinking that the next time I leave this town it's going to be for good. I keep reading Victor's monologue, a 60 second trip around the world. "I no longer know who I am, and I feel like the ghost of a total stranger".