I spent last night in a hotel room on Old Fort Parkway.  I spent the night watching movies and writing.  I am finally writing seriously again.  I have a purple notebook that I am filling up.  I'm desensitized at the moment.  I have shut off my emotional center.  It a required task at the moment.  I watched Donnie Darko last night and was inspired to write for a few hours.  I hate when I get like that, a feeling where I have to write my thoughts down or I'll explode.  It's not a pleasant feeling.  I might end up going to the mall later but I don't know.  There is nothing ever there to interest me.  I might just peruse at Hastings looking for something to keep my interest for a few hours.  I want love dammit.  I want the kind of love that suffuses all of your cells and makes you feel so freaking good.  I want to be in awe of the feelings I hold for the other person.  I want to be inspired to write and draw things that would never have come otherwise.  I want an otherwordly warmth to comfort me and guide me when I'm with this person.  I want to feel as though angels are breathing upon me when I look at her.  I want to feel my heart explode again and again when I hear her name.  Is it possible for that sort of love to exist in this day and age?  If so is it conceivable for me to stumble into it?  Should I hold out hope?  I will, until proof slaps me down into the depths of despair.