I usually think the best in the nighttime.
Usually.
Some nights, however, things just go wrong.
Some nights, when the house is dark and I am alone and it seems that noone else exists in the world but myself and I'm forced to shiver, even though it's hot and sticky... those nights are the ones.
During those nights, my past comes back to haunt me. Things I've done. Things I haven't done and should have. Old tapes, put there long ago by my father, by my peers, tapes I thought were long cast aside, are taken out of their cases in the shelves of my mind and replayed.
Tapes about inadequacy, about ugliness, about stupidity and strength.
The house is so god damned quiet. The night is so god damned dark.
I am simply so damned.