I'm making myself sick. Sometimes I feel like such a hack. Sometimes I worry and worry till nothing seems right. I'm tired from too much sleeping, and I'm restless from staying in one place. Will I be condemned to lead a life of perpetual restlessness?
I think that eventually I could die a happy death as a wonderer or a starved hunter gatherer.
I don't mind the cold so far this year, which is odd. I am always first to complain about the sun shying away from the ground.
Besides it sort of nice bundling up, and searching for warm spots in the apartment. I can endure. I can endure anything. Save for my empty bed.
Sometimes I think that I cursed myself when I fell in love. Now, I know what I'm missing when these stretches of time span more than a week. It amazes me how the mere presence of someone can ease my mind to the point of contentedness.
I guess the upside of my malcontent is that I've been writing a lot lately.