Legs

All I can think about is shaving my legs. I stare at the tiny black hairs protruding from my calves in hatred and self-loathing; wishing them away.I have other things to be grateful for. Ugly legs should be insignificant really.

It is insignificant, I tell myself, though the thought is sticky and gooey in my brain; sliding slowly away as I strain to think of something of importance.

I move on.

I am developing a stomach ache. Can’t determine exactly the cause, but the sharp pains are coming in waves and distracting me from fully enjoying this lazy evening at home. I fear the alarming amounts of coffee I consume every day may be deteriorating my stomach lining. It could also be contributed to the alcohol from last night still bubbling nicely in my stomach.
Either way, the ache does not help the melancholy feeling of today, though it may explain the misplaced emotion.

I am relaxed and my time is available for anything of my choosing. I am wearing my favorite sweat pants, I have a glass of my favorite wine in front of me, and I do not have a single responsibility until tomorrow. Yet, there is an emptiness I can’t shake. I don’t feel fulfilled or even motivated to become fulfilled to find out what might possibly excite me.

It’s exhausting really.

I want to listen to music, but nothing in my entire library interests me, so I sit in silence; wishing I was listening to music. I want to read, but my attention span won’t allow it. I want to write something profound, but this garbage is the only thing that my fingers will type.

My sanity slips further away with each month the winter drags on.