"…but I never seem to go."

Something has come over me of these late weeks/months… some strange mist has covered my eyes, a curious fragrance envelops me… queer sounds and meandering thoughts.

Too often I feel swept up my my own senses, my thoughts turning on an axis that points in four different directions at once.

Darkness… disturbing dreams and terrifying visions. A feeling not entirely unlike a sort of dpression – though more akin to a weary malaise than any sort of clinical disorder or distension of humours. Tired. Sore of spirit, wounded in thought.

The past-present-and-future converge upon each other; and within each other. I am feeling… pulled outward and pushed down upon. Push me, pull me.

Understand, there is not any semblance of true despair or hopelessness… more of what might be termed an “urge for going” without the seemingly evident “wanderlust” implications of such a phrase.

Long have I felt like a tumbleweed waiting upon the next full gust to send me on my way… but, without such refreshment, having grown dusty and drained under the white-light/white-heat of the Sun.

I know my wife has noticed this, as I have seemed somewhat “far-away” in recent days… not so much estranged from her as much as wrestling within myself.

Two roads diverged, and I… where-what-how doth my destiny lie?

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