Bungle in the Jungle (of my mind)

Couldn't sleep at all last night as I found myself overthinking everything. So I watched bad tv, journaled a little, wrote adolescent angst-ridden poetry (which should no doubt be burned in some sort of emotional cleansing ritual), and finally fell asleep on the sofa sometime after 4am.

Funny how just a little bit of rejection can open up every wound you've ever suffered; even the ones you'd forgotten about.

Woke up on the sofa in a bad mood, with a stiff neck and back and a sinus headache.

A pot of coffee later, several pages of journal therapy (which should also be burned), a mini abs workout, and I'm rip roaring to go.

The Rousseau exhibit ends tomorrow, so I've just taken advantage of my Tate membership, reserved tickets for 2pm and am having myself a little Artist's Date.

Go send him some good thoughts. He's gonna be all whacked out on pain killers this afternoon. Good times. Pity all I have is coffee.