that’s how it feels anyway.

There’s so much going on, yet so little that’s changed.

Is it just how I feel or is it real?

Maybe I need more coffee.

Maybe I just need more time.

Everyone needs more time. Yet they don’t realize they’re wasting what time they have thinking about it.

My cat stares at me.

15 hours.

15 hours a day on average a cat sleeps.

That’s more than half the day.

That bastard stares at me like I should be doing something with myself.

And it works.

But it doesn’t and I just feel worse about myself and put a record on and try to start something I won’t ever finish.

Then think, what’s it all for? How will it help?

I wonder what I can do to kill that feeling, but it never comes.

I waste that time too.

Then I hate myself for forgetting all the things I should’ve been doing.

Then the day ends and I decide

that I’m exhausted from all the thinking and there’s always tomorrow.

But someday, there won’t be a tomorrow.

Someday it will all pass me by and I’ll hate myself for that too

wasting so much time,

becoming old, full of regret, a head full (or not) of gray hair.

Making moves without going anywhere.