So... here I am again. Another workday at a desk, struggling to stay awake, much less do anything productive. The phone is silent.

I, for once, am not alone. Doubtless, they probably think I'm hard at work on something. Well... that's partially correct, I guess.

I just don't know how I got so far away from the things I wanted. I don't know how I've just sat complacent and waiting, and not screaming or setting the house on fire, or burning it all away, until there's nothing left but the real, vital me.

It's like there's something underneath my skin, and it's crawling constantly, telling me that this isn't the life I need to be leading. That I'm wasting my time. I only have so much, and I'm letting it all slip away on a wisp of a breeze. I was 19, and I blinked, and here I am, 25, and still no plan, no... nothing. A shell. A husk in the city, with no way to be happy.

I'm not happy, and I'm not even sure I know that all these grandiose plans I have for next year will help. I'm unhappy sitting here at this desk, day after day, accepting minimum wage. I'm unhappy looking at how useless my Etsy shop is. I'm unhappy that, most days, I can't muster the energy to work on anything, keeping my costumes in good shape, researching the possibility of my next degree, making sure I'm well fed. Going for a goddamn walk and not taking the city for granted.

I'm losing so much, blind to so much. I can't see it anymore. The city that I fought and died for, it's not here. I want to go home, and walk along my lakeshore, and feel the sand under my feet. I want to hold my camera again. I want the crunch of fall leaves and the color and the freezing breezes calling me off the lake and home. I want to live that. I don't want to worry about money. I want enough. I'm not asking for a fortune, though the fame wouldn't be so bad. I just want enough. Enough to go out to eat every once in awhile. Enough to keep my clothes looking new. Enough to climb in my car and not worry about running out of gas before I get to where I'm going.

I don't need to live extravagantly, I just want to live well. I want to be able to indulge sometimes without feeling the insane, nagging guilt. I want to know where my energy and will to live went, and why it's been gone so long. Somewhere along the line, I had convinced myself that Mike Moody had it, and if he came back, I would be just the same, but he's here and gone again, and I never found it. And I'm starting to wonder if I just lost it, and I'll never get it back. The will.

I want to pack my car, or maybe just get on my bike, and ride til I fall over. North. All the way up. Through Wisconsin, and into Canada. Me and the camera. I just want to lose everyone for awhile. Stop looking at the concrete and glass for just long enough that when I come back, I'll appreciate it all again.