On most nights I try to remain in bed but my feet won’t stop moving. I think they’re trying to catch my thoughts. If it persists for longer than a couple of minutes I’ll roll out of bed and make my way downstairs, to my office, which is the dining room table, the same place we all eat.
Fragments; everything is fragmented. Moving to one end of the house to the other and back — circles; everything cycles.
I’m met with high highs, then brought back by low lows. I frequent these transitions often.
It isn’t so bad though. I often forget what brought me down in the first place, and to a fault sometimes. The joy eventually returns but the result is repeated wrongs.
But I get over it.
We always get over it.
