Not a night for miracles...

...though, for a few brief moments, I stupidly allowed myself some hope.

Early in the evening, I suddenly realized I was in a good mood. What was up with that? My computer is giving me grief, I know now that the chances of receiving any of the money owed me before the New Year is virtually nonexistent, and nothing else improved today.

But there it was: a feeling that things would work out okay.

So I went for a walk. It's beautiful here tonight; clear, with just a slight chill to the air. As has happened before Where The Ghetto Meets The Sea, it looks as if Christmas will actually be fairly warm. But the walk was a bad idea.

It didn't seem so at first. I wanted to get away from the loud television next door, the people who live above me (who are stomping around in a loud and annoying way) and the people yelling at each other outside my window.

But I think when I walk. And I thought about...well, I'm not going to say what/who I thought about, though some people can probably guess. No help for that, really; when I tell myself "I will not think about ****," that's the same as forcing the thoughts into the front of my mind.

So now I'm thinking that tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and it will be no different than any Sunday night has been for much too long:

Lonely. Unsatisfying. Pointless.

This just isn't making it.