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I’m writing this over breakfast — a simple flax bagel with cream cheese and honeyed tea — something I haven’t done since back in the day. How weird is it that I don’t write anymore. At this point, I can’t tell if it’s a shift in interests, or just a lack of need.
I lose track of the days cause I don’t sleep regular hours. Or talk to John. Or play games. I can’t understand where the time is going. I wonder if life will ever slow down again, or if this is it, this is the reason old people whine about how quickly the years have passed and how some small food item used to cost some small amount.
This is how I want to be woken up every day.
I haven’t had a chance to recharge my batteries in as long as I can remember. The Christmas holidays will be nice, when I’ll actually be taking the time off to hermitize and relax, when I won’t have another video to edit, subject to write, song to learn, or friend to visit. I may even treat myself to Portal 2.
The Fall has started like no other. The air is clear and the sun is out, but it’s starting to get nippy at night. Every morning I wake up with the pavement dark from the dew, and soon I’ll be scraping ice off the car, instead of wiping the condensation from the windows.
It’s still not cool enough to leave the windows open all day, but the anticipation is enough. There’s something comforting about a predictable cycle, knowing that snow will fall and melt, that things will die and grow.
I can finally see the grand scheme, the chapters in the book we’re constantly writing, where an ending means a beginning is on the next page.
In a way, it feels like I’m finally here, except I don’t know where here is, I just know it’s exactly where I want to be.
