I have a compulsion to write, a strange desire to smoke, an inability to remember, and a persistent need to sleep. And that is my day today.

I wake and again question my actions. Not of waking, but of everything. I stumble to the bathroom, wash my face, change, and sit on the couch. The thoughts continue. Each bringing a new question, a new thought, new worry. I check my emails, talk to my sister, then I am asked to leave. We need to be alone she said. So I change again, grab my bag, pick up an umbrella for the never ending rain and leave.

What shall it be? Diary of the Dead I decide, only to regret it an hour later. Whatever happened to good zombie films I wonder. I decide that Romero's latest "masterpiece" seems to be some sort of comment on the pros and cons of modern day technology in the event of some obscure and absurd crisis rather than simply telling a good horror tale.

Disappointed I leave the cinema 96 minutes and too many trailers later. It's still raining though I'm not bothered, despite having made a poor choice of footwear given the weather. I walk, still plagued by thought and questions of doubt. Costa. The coffee is not even worth a thought, but at least it's warm inside. I go in, I order (Green Tea), take a seat by the window, and begin to read. The pages draw me in but somehow I still can't concentrate. There are voices around me but it is silent. Traffic lights and buses, tourists and their cameras aimed at statues. The busy world passing by. And for what purpose? It means nothing. It's a million pieces of meaning, each piece belonging to each of us, but with no whole, unified meaning. It means only what we want it to mean to us. No more.

I try to remember things. I can't. Simple things. I can't. So I am only reminded of a memory that forgets. I worries me. Scares me even. I panic a little. My breath quickens, and pulse beats faster with the panic. I feel it inside. I'm distracted by another thought and a guy sitting nearby, and it subsides. I wonder, as I often do if I should as for help. But help for what? I don't even know.

The rain still falls. There are still tourists with their cameras. My shoes are soaked and have turned my feet black. And my thoughts still plague my mind. I know the evening will be the same. That I will feel uncomfortable and unwelcome. So I will sit in silence and read, trying to pass unnoticed. No desire to eat or talk.

Tomorrow will be the same. Or perhaps not. Perhaps not. Another thought to ponder.