Tonight I made 48 cinnamon buns. Now I am just sitting here, staring. I miss something, but I am not sure of what. I think I miss me. Hopefully I will find me now when autumn arrives. I usually do.
I don't know what's wrong. This is not me. I am not this blob sitting in front of the computer day in and day out, too scared to actually have a social life. When people come to visit I say hello and then run and go hide. Smoke too many cigarettes. Eat too little. Me? Eat too little? What is happening?
I cannot even force myself to go to the place that's always been my safe haven in every town or city - the library. It feels like my inside has turned to coal.
Everything seems to be ignored by me right now. I cannot agree with anyone, not even the love of my life.
I just want to go for a cup of coffee, but I never have the money and seldom the company.
I should fix the bike and go down town every day. I should find a way out of this strange place, but I cannot see the way clearly.
Something must happen. I must make a change. I just don't know how to start.
By all Gods, I miss me so much.
"When we cook, it’s joy"
1 day ago