It seems that none of my buddies are particularly content with their lives right now. I myself have some complaints, but I can usually push my problems aside by opening a certain .doc file and hammering away for a couple hours. Of course, once that's done, I sit back and think that I'll never get this book sold, thereby whisking myself back to the ever-troubled sphere called "reality," where I am more plagued by philosophical issues than temporal ones. Way to be, Smith.

As for my friends, I can sympathize with their reasons for being restless or discontent or bordering on despair. Of course, my general silence on personal issues keeps me from discussing things with them; I suspect that, in the long run, being taciturn about my inner life may bite me in the ass. It should be obvious that I'm gibbering now, too reluctant to reveal details to say anything concrete. Maybe that's my problem.

Back to my main point... which does not exist. I've confounded myself. It is time to look elsewhere for words that mean something. And no, I'm not going to play Quest for Glory.