…is afoot. I’m getting ready to close one chapter in my life and (re)open another. The prospect of it is stupidly keeping me up at night, while I bandy it about in my head like a plaything, not achieving anything productive in its course. I think it will make me happy. In the end, it is change, and as this very odd year comes to a conclusion, that is what I crave.

The sad part is that it is also an admission of defeat; an inability or unwillingness to put forth the effort to make the best of a situation. I feel shame in that, and perhaps, that, too, is keeping me up, stoking that anxiety that so easily erupts.

I guess I’m feeling wordy. Or shall we say logorrheic?

Maybe I’ll just shut the fuck up.

There. Happy?