No groove at all

Anxiety makes for a lousy bedmate. 

Up and out before dawn to manage a perceived crisis which had grown to the point of involving higher echelons of management and losing all sense of proportion. It resolved itself in a few hours without incident.

A good outcome followed by coffee and a waffle and ham steak in a diner. A boring conservative is talking to his wife. Sour complainer. "Let's go Bran-don," he chants, smiling smugly, seeming to thinking himself part of a club. 

I'm not interested. Almost every time I enter any place these days I immediately regret it and leave as quickly as possible. 

All day there's been that washed out feeling I get when my nights are messed with. There's another one on its way.