Depression. Fifth stage of grief.
Paradise is... still the same, as I expected. Pretty impersonal, but nobody comes to bother me. Well, technically, they annoy me, but they don't come and ask me questions every fourth morning. Although there is no such thing as a morning here. Or even a day, really.
I miss you, Crowley, you and your questions.
I'm trying to shake things up, get things done, but... I feel like so little is changing. Maybe you were right... maybe it's all for nothing. But I've got to do something, wouldn't you agree?
