Everything has compounded. It seems as though my year ends when the semester ends. A break from this stress seems like a false-advertisement, like the lifetime warranty promised by late night infomercials. The headway I should be making on final papers is non-existent.
I feel lost in a maelstrom of information and longings. Everything is mixing together in ways I would have thought impossible only days ago. I just wish that someone would define the word "rest" for me. Or maybe, if conceivable, give me a bit of that fabled state.
My disheveled sheets offer no comfort. The empty coffee mug on the end table offers no energy. There is no one there to answer my prayers.
Even so, I move on. I look toward greater things, and I ponder that imagined state of rest that my grandparents seem to have complete control over. Even when my body is at rest, my mind is roving. I am constantly longing for another body to be lying beside my own, breathing rhythmically, speaking cool words about hot topics.
"Love is the kind of illness that does not spare the intelligent or the dull." - Albert Camus
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