I have a Warning Sign on my Forehead

I just went downstairs to fill a cup with water. My eyes focused on the plate that I painted with Jorge. It seems silly for it to be on display in the kitchen. The plate has no meaning to anyone but me. I like that.

Cardwell called to talk about our emotional distance last night. At several points during the conversation I had a sense that I should feel something more than I was. The thoughts were in my head, but nothing but a blank stare on my face. I really am a walking zombie. I want to stop the meds altogether again. What a fucking cycle.

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I wish it were Summer. I would lay in the sun and absorb life.