I could write any number of things here, but sticking to the theme, here's what I'd say if you were here:

I'm sorry. I don't . . . today . . . Today is a clay day. I'm heavy. I feel like my lines are all smearing into one another. My sculptor isn't very talented and I don't want to lift my arms. All the chemical potential energy is useless if the circuits are closed. Nothing is happening. My body is congealed around me.

It's a don't care day. It's been a don't care week. Surprised the flies aren't buzzing.

I think I will never stop being a chatterbox of whirling emotional gay mormon angst.

I'm going to church tomorrow.

There is probably not anything that you could do to change this feeling that everything golden and warm means nothing and is actually just clay. It's the thick, river kind of clay that I just have to slog through, that sucks at your legs as you're going so that you get angry and then you give up hope and just stand there until you can't just stand there anymore even if you don't know why and you move on.

Lately I've been eating desperately until my stomach hurt trying to make my body stop feeling like it was going to smear itself away or collapse inward into nothing and it hasn't worked, and there's nothing to do but keep on.

But obviously, obviously it's not too bad because I'm still doing a bang-up job at work.