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It's one of those days where I've written a dozen drafts and not published.
It's one of those days where I've got a groggy hangover and get surprised by how low my chair is each time I sink into it.
It's one of those days when I've been hit by one liners that (right now) seem so philosophical and moment-of-truth like, but will soon sound so lame.
It's one of those days when I hate every single word I've ever written on this blog, and want to delete it completely.

I read a story yesterday. Haruki Murakami's story story called 'Man-Eating Cats.' I hate to use the phrase 'I could relate with it', but that's what it felt like. Like it was my story. Or my story to-be. And right now, a flesh eating cat is devouring my mind.