What is it he's seeing?

Psychology is interesting...really, it is.
But right now I'm bored mindless.
It all seems so evident and clear, like reading the book will delineate something I already understood.

No, I'm not surreptitiously stroking my own ego, I'm just bored and rambling.

My stomach is growling at the most inopportune times and I'm growing less and less invested in the idea of sitting still, much less paying attention.

I guess this would be a good time to try and start catching myself back up on the life that I have set on the shelf for the last several months.
I shouldn't be terribly surprised, my writing consistency has never been stellar exactly.

I've spent such a great deal of time and energy working at overcoming the weather, the gray malaise surrounding so many of the corners I keep banishing myself into on a regular basis.

All of this gray and ugly weather is making me feel more and more like nothing matters more than sleep.
All I want to do is have a lot of money, little to no responsibility, a million books, a fire and a big plush bed with a handsome "reading partner."

This scene would be appropriately detailed with accessories such as Cabernet Sauvignon, a Toblerone, dozens and dozens of loaves of French Bread, Coffee, those little malty sugar mints that make weddings worth attending (right up there with open bar), and finally, down comforters, chenille blankets, and mountains of pillows.

Daydreaming seems to be the only lasting method of self-medication at this point due to the fact that reality is painfully slapping me in the face with every disappointing glance towards a charcoal-lit window.

I just want some Sun.
Damn it.

One Last Time

Having spent yesterday's counseling sessions recounting much of the topical material from the preceding 14 weeks, I felt as if I were in the last episode of an entire season's serial show.

It was that whole "best moments" program where a somewhat mundane conversation spawns a number of flashbacks to salient instances from previous episodes.

In this case, Rose hearkened back to numerous different conversations we'd had about my self-concept and stasis.
It made me feel well-heard, intentionally paid attention to, important.

I read her a completed piece from the last couple of months and gave her a copy of one of my favorite poems.

It was like paper leaves left behind by my changing foliage.

And now, here and now, in this moment,
I am.

I simply am.