I sit here, without inspiration or drive to do anything more than just make sure I’m clean and well fed. If the past few months have been a whirlwind of things to do and places to be, this calm is the opposite end of that extreme where nothing happens.
As I wander these empty moments lost and restless, it’s the realisation that there is finality that puts the world into perspective. Yet despite knowing that there is a mountain of things to do, there is a part of me that refuses to acknowledge that there are things to do. I know I deserve a moment’s peace, but I’ve gone without peace and quiet for so long, I don’t know where to start.
So I keep sitting here, between spending time with people that will soon leave this country town. I sit here waiting for the next chapter crisis to rear its head. I sit here waiting for someone kind enough to return my conversation or some inspiration to hit me on the unfinished projects that were always driven by my own desire to escape a personal darkness. I sit here, drifting in the limbo of reality.
And ever so tired.