The wind still Kansas

Today: Anxiety.

I keep remaking my list of things to do today and then putting them off. I spent two hours at Panera this morning working on the film festival and intended to spend the whole afternoon writing and reading and critiquing the things that must be critiqued by tomorrow. At 3 (where the 2 hours between getting home and deciding this went, I have no idea), I said I would sit down in the quiet and read for an hour. And hour and a half later I didn't want to stop reading but knew I had to get to work on everything. And that's when the anxiety really set in, the anxiety I felt before school, the anxiety of necessity. And so I decided I would fix this anxiety with a run.

It was colder than I expected, the wind still Kansas. A quarter of a mile in my lungs were burning and shallow. I had to walk, tears forming.

It's been an hour and a half since that 1.3 mile run, and I don't know what I've done. Time is always disappearing. Sometimes when you're lonely the days just evaporate. Sometimes when you haven't been touched in six months you forget how to connect with people. And when you know that it will be a long time until you're touched again, you forget where you are in life and how to complete a simple to-do list. Sometimes knowing what you've lost makes you lose all the more.