I don't even know what to do with myself. This can't be it. I keep thinking I'm supposed to be…more? But more of WHAT? I hate this waiting. Maybe Beans is right, maybe I'm just supposed to sleep until spring. It's not even that I'm sad, I'm just… tired. Of everything. And it's not even a cool, poetic tired. It's a soul-crushing, staring-at-the-ceiling-until-my-eyes-burn kind of tired. God, I need to paint something, anything. Maybe I'll just throw colors at a canvas and see what sticks. Probably nothing will. probably it will just be another reminder that I'm not who I thought I was going to be. And what if Priya never calls again? What if that was it? Fuck. Okay, deep breath. This can't be it. Right?