It's problematic when I just want to spend my time curled up in a ball and nap all day. To nap away your troubles and your anxieties and cross your fingers with the hope that your dreams may be brighter than your realities. To engage in your fantastically unrealistic, fictional dreams where you are living in a story.
As I write, I'm already beginning to become increasingly drowsy.
And I'd love to just fly home now. I can hardly wait the two weeks I have until I'm home. Every day is another 24 hours. Every day is now defined by its minutes. Every day is now defined by work and all that work brings with it.
I'd love to pack my bags and fly home right now.
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