lying in bed tonight unable to sleep, I realized three things in quick succession:
- The majority of my unhappiness can be traced back to living here.
- I’m both restless and aimless.
- I did not blog.
Just like that I almost blew another iteration not even a year into the damn thing. 168 days is nothing. Yet it is evidence that coming back here is ruinous to me. I haven’t exercised in over a week and I’ve hardly left the house under the 110+ heat wave. Still, all of it is excuse. I have weights here. I have a space I can clean up and worm in. I have all that I need to be healthy and successful in this space but I’ve chosen surrender and the boredom that comes with it. I’m not even writing.
all of it is a result of the malaise inherited from the here and the static nature of here. I’m living in a dead end frat house in a culdesac of people who don’t exist outside their home
more excuses for not doing anything. I’m never going to run out of those, so I may Berber do anything again except accept the fact that I’m not me when I’m here. .