A full moon stokes the fires of lunacy in all degenerates, criminals, and the mentally ill: any ER nurse or police officer can corroborate this as factual. The nights when the moon is most luminous and full bring out the worst in these people, and I am among them.
For days leading up to this evening, a feeling of malaise had slowly begun to creep into my mind and tonight it has reached its peak. I am awash in the moon’s terrible glow, and memories I had confined to the deepest crypts of my mind are now exhumed in full view to torment me once again. This is the time of the month, when I am alone in the evening, when my thoughts beleaguer me most and all I can do to find solace is sleep or pace anxiously around my house and I am at my most miserable. It’s a small wonder that my feet haven’t carved a circular trench into the carpet in my home office, and I am alive and crawling with parasitic visions of past ills. I keep shaking my head or screaming internally for them to dissipate, but always there are more. There is no shortage of shame and disgrace living and breathing inside of me, not tonight.
I tried to go for a walk a few moments ago, but my head was full of noise and the moon’s poisonous rays so I returned home. I’m working on another book, and I had planned on working on it this evening but I don’t think I’m in the right head-space to create anything coherent right now. This will pass, and tomorrow I will wake fresh and with renewed fondness for life. Much like the phases of the moon, my creativity and will to create wax and wane in an almost measurable cycle.
Enough of this for now. To those of you who read this, I bid you a fond Sunday evening. If you’re like me, or perhaps even a little superstitious about the lunar cycle, then I hope the morning finds you in a better place than tonight.
Towers of Rust 