Can’t sleep.
What does one do when one lies in bed thinking and re-thinking about this afternoon’s soccer match.
Played the whole match.
Thought I would like it.
But i didn’t.
Now I grasp that good quality play is better than less than average quantity play.
At least for me.

Torn apart.
To further one’s development or
To stick on and fight for something I believe in,
That may ultimately not bear fruit within my tenure?

Quarter life crisis,
Or maybe a crisis that never left.
underlying dysrhythmia?
Or bipolar?
Why this constant emptiness that hits,
When life seems to be going well from an outsider’s point of view.
The need to have things to constantly look forward to.
What happens if fascinating things come to an end?
Do I wither along with it?

Band aid therapy.
Instantaneous gratification.
At least two things to look forward to now.
Running clinic.
New suburb.

I’m worried.
That’s the root of it.

The constant exposure to periods of unsupportiveness from close allies.
Someone has to stand in front if the barrel.
Why do I have a penchant for this.
Fatalistic philosophy.

I’m tired.
But my eyes won’t close.
And my mind won’t still.

I will pay for this at work later.
I hope my patients will be kinder on me.
Probably not.
My dogs love me more.


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