One more for me

The friction, the drama, sometimes it's meaningful in its own way, a recognition of something solid, of something true. M used to talk about how she would float away, a type of dissociation that she didn't own. She always tried to fill her time, always tried to be busy, and was always seemingly productive with every ounce of time, and for what?

I left work, having not accomplished half of my goals for the day. Worried about young people. Telling them the same things I have to tell myself to get out of bed, feeling their loneliness and hopelessness too clearly. And I leave work frustrated that I need to spend my night continuing to work.

I got chinese food. I ate it and felt too full. I took a nap at 6:30 trying to avoid work, and then an hour later hit snooze because my dreams were more compelling than my paperwork.

I had three goals for the night, it is nearly 9pm and I have accomplished none. Laundry, paperwork, walk. And does it matter? Not a bit, not even a little.

I woke up from the nap wishing I had a crush, a love, a partner by my side.
Wanting something for me, something solid to hold onto for my sake.
Wanting something that will outlast me. (almost a Hamilton reference)

The ego is fragile, it craves.
This body, oooh how it craves.
My soul, oh, it craves too.
Oh but this life, it won't last but a smidge longer.

Maybe I need to get out of this city, this comfort, this stuck.
Can't repeat patterns and think things will change.