Left my clothes infront of the heater

I want to write about all the great tour times, all the faces we met and everything great that ever happened, but somehow a perpetual stress and anxiety has really taken the wind out of my writing wings.

I feel more like running. Like I have all this excess energy and I'll run until I hit a wall, smash through it. Then run till I meet the next wall. I'll smash a hole through that one too, and then with the next and the next. Until I have smashed many holes. A straight tunnel down the centre of the city and I can look from one end to the other. And then as I look down the tunnel, peoples heads will pop out and look around and back in confusion. I will run. And others will join, and our shoulders will hit the edges and our tunnel will become bigger until.... Like a wave. I think you get the picture. We'll go swimming.

Still haven't seen the ocean on the east coast.

Stress is making me emotionless. Can't deal with other peoples crap at the  moment. Washed my sheets today. Left the heater on and almost burnt the house down. Somehow I really like these photos. Need saving.