This is a blog post.

I'm at that state where I want to blog and I feel like I should blog, but the only things that I care to write about right now are things that I should not be blogging about.  It leaves one in a tough state.  Like a police state, but in your own mind.
I'm cold right now.  I've been cold all day. It doesn't matter if I put a sweater on.  It doesn't matter if I'm sitting by the vent.
Now it feels like nothing is right, like the three line response I send to a six paragraph email is more misfitting than normal, like I can't sleep all the way, like I'm self-aware enough to see that I am adamently opposed to doing anything productive, but lazy enough to not do anything about it.
I don't like this state very much.  It feels like there's nothing that I really want to do and that I'm not fully awake.  And I want to be wanting something, more than anything.
I guess that's okay.
It's okay enough.
But I had never been fully me and I've never been exactly who or where I want to be. All I know is that right here isn't okay with me and I need to get out.
I'm incoherent now, I can feel it in my bones, but I'm in the water, and it's impossible to get back on the boat.
And I'm thinking about what's pretty and what's not pretty and why we need people to tell us that.  And who decides what is and isn't okay, socially.  And maybe I just don't exist quite enough to count, all the time.  I'm not quite here, I'm up there, drowning in the infinitesimal light of the stars.

And these walls are delicious.  That's what matters.