Bored. Bored. Bored.

I'm bored off my balls, people.

Eating healthy and living the good life is gonna kill me, no doubt about it.

I miss the old me. The old me who didn't pass up opportunities to go out and have a good time.

Twice this week I've snubbed really nice fellow aspiring screenwriters when they asked me to hang out. Sure, I had stuff going on - I've been dealing with a sick Dad (who just got hit by car) for months now - but the old me would have made time.

What's the point of going out if you're not going to end up shit-faced with a strange pair of titties in your face? Hell, what's the point of life without those things?

The flip side to the boredom is should I ever fall back into my old lifestyle, that too would be the death of me. And there's your catch-22 for the day - die of boredom or die of reckless abandon.

How do most people live in the middle? What is the middle?

There are days, much like this one, where I would give it all up for one last year of debauchery.

One last year of copious drugs, innumerable women, and non-stop self-indulgence.

But on most days I'm content with where I'm at.

Today just isn't one of them.