I am waiting for my body to catch up to my head (in one sense) and (in another) for my heart to catch up to my body. A sense of fragmenting, you know? All these aspects etherbound and a leaden will, stuck dumbly on the ground. It won't always be like this, I know that, but these days I am tired, scattered and vaporous, all stringy-apart and disintegrated. I am tired now and the days will be longer, and longer yet.
I have taken to too many wandering walks each day. Too many walks end in commerce. This is what happens when I can't deicide. (Where. Which. When.) When all the small decisions are too much and I need something to ameliorate the corrosive hours of work (both jobs). I come home with expensive tea cookies for my mother and green tea for my brother, maybe even a new book for myself. I hunt for perfect scents in the air around me.
Give me solution. Solace. Stimulation. Something. But stop leaving me in the shadows. I know I like to pretend, but you ought to know that it really hurts.