I feel empty inside. Hollow. Purposeless. Ruderless. Not even lonely, or bitter, or sad or angry, just empty. Like I can't hold any emotion.

Hard time waking up this morning. My body still feels like it's jerking itself awake every time I move, like that tiny burst of adrenaline that happens when you wake up from a falling dream.

I don't think I'm dreaming. If I am, it's a horrible, mundane dream. If I'm dreaming, I should be dreaming of fantastical things, like flying with the wings of a lion, soaring high above the clouds for the sheer joy of it. Or perhaps being at an archaeological dig where we find some long-lost treasure, and awaken something that has been slumbering for centuries.

Instead, I find myself sitting in front of a computer monitor in a city where I know nobody, and I have nothing.

I woke up again. 4:50 this time, a little later than the usual. Felt like I couldn't move, like I was weak. Not paralyzed, just weak. A few moments of disorientation where I couldn't remember where I was, and I couldn't see anything that gave me a clue as to where I should be. I managed to work up the strength to turn over, and everything snapped into place-- I had been facing the wall, where the only shapes were indistinct splotches of light that were leaking in through the small holes in the blinds.
I managed to get up enough to go to the bathroom, then I went and sat in the living room for a while and just listened. Muffled sounds of traffic on the freeway. Indistinguishable music coming from somebody's radio. The sound of a lone cricket right outside my window.

Even darkness isn't quiet.