I hate when there is nothing to do. Sometimes its like and itch that I can't quite find. I want, need, to do something. But not that thing, something else. Wheres the something I want to do, I can't quite settle until I find. Unfortunatly I can't always find The Thing, and this weird ass feeling hangs just out of reach well into the night.
Sometimes it makes me wonder if my workaholic mindset is my way of keeping myself grounded. As if having things to do is like an armor, a defence against the haze. I remeber the haze just once, though i'm sure it had happend before. I knew where I was, there was ground beneath my feet, I knew it. But I didn't really feel there, I was in my body but it didn't feel real. It went away eventually and I haven't dealt with it since. But every once in awhile the itch doesn't appear when the day is empty and it feels as though I'm standing at the edge of the haze. It can't quite reach me though I'm just a little to far. To close to really think, but far enough that I still feel within my skin. I can't seem to move forward ever, which I suppouse is a good thing. But with the right project I can move back.
The haze, nor itch, can reach me when I am busy.
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RandomContent Warning: -Swearing - Suicidal tendencies - Complaining - lack of actual content This is not a story, if that's what your looking for then move along. If you've got advice, Great! You are free to comment it and I am free to ignore it.
