wounds are still open that i thought were licked clean months ago:
i'm unsettled, in an incessant state of perpetual motion. i'm i'm not doing something i'm worried about what i should be doing.

there's a blank page in my head, a blank tertiary application form. just blank static with blinklets of light where the lamp shining into my eyes has left an impression. when the light fades there's only static left, like on an untuned television channel or the place between radio stations. endless movement in a stagnant place.

i've started writing anonymous little messages and sayings and putting them in a letterbox a couple of blocks away. it makes me feel good, i'm not entirely sure why yet.

i saw the shawshank redemption again, and it also made me feel good. the part about institutionalization, and how hope can make us free of it. "there are places in the world that aren't made out of stone - there's something inside that's yours, that they can't touch."