Icelandic beats from an indie restaurant ten yards down the road seemed to share the same, demure indecisiveness as my ego. Zeniths of noise cascading to some sullen architecture of sound; similar to my affect. Or, in this case, my mood.

Who truly knows how to feel? And when it is appropriate? And why we must feel? And to whom we should feel these things? The attitude is as defiant as a plucky 16-year-old. "I don't know, and I don't care."

Hans Seyle might have told me that nothing is wrong; that I cannot adapt to the environment. That homeostasis is screwed up, within.


Honestly. What do I feel? And why?