Dumps.

I want to be stripped of all those things that prevent me from fulfilling my potential and get me to moments like this, where I sit in bed and engage in a staring contest with the glare of a Macbook. There are so many things I could and should be writing right now, but can’t because of yearning.

There are fewer low moments than the slow burn of returning to my routine. The romantic in me wants to say I miss New York, though I felt the mood coming on well before I boarded the bus.

That’s my other problem, being the romantic. I’m far too easily swept up in the moment. I make that eye contact, get smitten, and then get crushed by news of “she’s seeing someone” and/or distance. Then I curse myself for having that feeling, fleeting as it was, because it’s silly and wholly unfounded. Then I beat myself up for beating myself up, until I find myself here, yearning and loathing and yearning again.

Then I remember “this too shall pass,” and most likely turn something on that will turn my mind off.