FUCK

I think we humans aren't ready to do nothing.

It really isn't all that natural to confine onself to a bare-walled cubic mental stretch.  

I am homesick for California berry berry much.  

Life over there is a party compared to this.  The highlight of my damn MONTH was going bowling!  

I guess I'm just a little over, or tired of (not SICK of, mind you, let's not get melodramatic)  the continual visuals of the Searle house interior.  Yesterday I ate breakfast outside, and had an interesting enough book with me that I stayed out there for a couple of hours and felt just fine.

Being inside will fuck you over.

I'm relying on the chance that next year will be super-active for me.

And I noticed that when we had fruit and home-cooked meals, and when I was sleeping from sundown to sun-up, I felt very clear.  Raquel and Nigel and I had very traditional meals, and planning/cooking them gave me somewhere to gravitate there.

You see how much time has passed?  I can't even keep track of what week was which..A whole month tomorrow.  Feels like two months.  That makes sense, really, because a month is a FUCKING LONG TIME!

Some sort of odd depression has seeped into me.

a very angry and murky communication with my stagnant self's manic egoic babblings.  That inner monologue has been incessant.  The chatter comes from some random nerve firing yet speaks in words...a half-formed, reflexive thought meant to guide my sleeping body towards somewhere safe.  Namely, it keeps me out of danger by allowing me to do NOTHING and still be occupied/sickeningly entertained by its escapism.

"Dazzle" by Siouxsie in the Banshees gets me almost in tears from the beginning.

sdff