It is Monday morning. My house is clean and my body is sore. I overslept and I plan to work from home today.
I dusted, scrubbed, organized, washed, folded, and generally did every last one of the things one does to keep a home tidy and clean.
I even organized my spice cabinet, labeling the spice bottles on the rear shelves with a label-maker so each item is easier to find.
I washed my makeup brushes and sorted through my skin and haircare products, getting rid of those items I don’t need anymore.
I re-folded all the towels in the linen closet so they fit on the shelves more tidily.
All this, and yet when I was done it was only 5:00 pm. I had a whole evening with which I had to figure out what to do. I had hours left of running from the Nothing.
I finished a book, started another one, discarded it, and out of desperation borrowed an ebook from the library. It won’t help me avoid screens, but it’s better than nothing.
I need a fucking hobby. Maybe I’ll start doing needlepoint again. I remember enjoying it when I was younger.
I don’t know. All I know is the Nothing wants me, and running from it is getting exhausting. It’s catching up to me. It won’t be long before I feel it’s claws sinking deep into my being.