I can’t write anything. I don’t care enough. I’ve become more and more anhedonic over the past few months. I’ve tried to do things I should enjoy but they just leave me cold.
I’m not writing. Fiction, I mean. I have one high-concept novel and one killer sci-fi epic on pause. I just can’t make anything happen.
I’m lonely. There, I said it. It’d be nice to actually date someone, but I hate people and no-one would pick me out of a pair, much less a crowd.
And so it goes.