All day I've been wanting to sit and write yet keep finding other things to do instead. Now I'm out of words and a bit nervous they are not coming back.

I've been thinking how very much I've been someone else over the past few months. Not that it is a bad thing. Perhaps as someone else I've been much more stable and happier than who I tend to be. The things that get to me are the strangest and tiniest irritants that most other people have the good sense to overlook. Not me.

Today I want an escape plan. The real Angela is once again returning - she is always looking for the way out. Claustrophobia grows in the corners.

Sometimes I get nervous when I see an open door

Close your eyes

Clear your heart

Cut the chord

Are we human or are we dancers?

My sign is vital, my hands are cold

And I'm on my knees looking for the answers

Are we human or are we dancers?

Human, The Killers