The bitter man across the way.

Only as I sulk deep into the recesses of my 20 page paper, my malady, and the stifling silence of my apartment can I even begin to comprehend the solitary life of the man across the way. Solitude, I feel, is only bearable when chosen. If forced upon someone, I believe insanity usually ensues.
If I choose to remember this cranky, bitter old man, I hope to do so sympathetically. I'm sure I'd be kind of a jerk if abandoned to my own devices.

In other news, I'm still painfully uninteresting.

Repercussions.

Ill, overwhelmed, inadequate, fatigued, tense, congested, and generally not okay.

Self-medicate

Where can I procur a bottle of "chill pills"? I need my fix.