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Meh. I'm counting down the days until I can finally get out of here, which I'll do as early as possible Saturday morning. I'm becoming slightly desperate for a break, time to really relax, although at the same time I feel a bit guilty for needing that, since my life is hardly stressful to begin with. But somehow, probably due to me being lazy and inefficient, which I seem to be incapable of changing, there's never enough time for what I want to do. Exhaustion. And there's this lingering sense of sadness recently... not exactly depression, because that to me was the antithesis of emotion, and actually being able to feel sad an improvement, but like I might burst into tears at the slightest provocation, which I don't do, obviously, but it's vaguely irritating. I'm starting to really resent my body's chemistry.

The flat needs cleaning, too, before I leave, and I'm doing it in tiny baby steps, picking up something here, putting a book away there, procrastinating on the internet...


I'll do nothing but sleep and read for the first few days, I swear.

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solitary_summer
solitary summer

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