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This is fill.
I'm feeling alone, not lonely. Asocial, not antisocial. Teetering on the edge of feeling depressed. I don't feel like dealing with people today.
Earlier, I woke up and dragged a chair into my yard to read. The sun was setting and a cool breeze was ablowin' down Sepulveda and through the trees that shade my carriage house. I need to do this more often; only my aversion to wearing pants in the mornings prevents me. The light faded too quickly, though.
Today I feel like basking in the sun with my solitude. When I was younger, I used to tell my parents I was going for a walk, or a bike ride, and be gone. Sometimes I'd bring a book or a notebook, but usually, I'd just go out until I was tired. In the west valley, the hills are filled with orange rock and housing developments and quiet and the yellow orange light of the sun on the edge of America falling behind those same hills to dive in the ocean, foam and gloam. Getting out was a great way of getting out anything inside me that was just too much. After a few hours of wandering through the concrete steppes, I'd be little more than tired, and glad to set my body down in a comfortable chair indoors while the light moved from outside to in. The next day would be new, and I would deal with what it brought.
But today, tonight, the light is already in, and there's nothing outside but darkness all around, which pushes things inside instead of drawing them out.
I don't feel like talking. I don't feel like walking. I don't feel like dealing with you. I don't feel like reading or bleeding or heeding advice, I don't care if it's true. So hold off your questions and feel-good suggestions. There's nothing that, now, seems appealing. It's not that I'm callous. I don't wish you malice. It's just that I don't feel like feeling.
Earlier, I woke up and dragged a chair into my yard to read. The sun was setting and a cool breeze was ablowin' down Sepulveda and through the trees that shade my carriage house. I need to do this more often; only my aversion to wearing pants in the mornings prevents me. The light faded too quickly, though.
Today I feel like basking in the sun with my solitude. When I was younger, I used to tell my parents I was going for a walk, or a bike ride, and be gone. Sometimes I'd bring a book or a notebook, but usually, I'd just go out until I was tired. In the west valley, the hills are filled with orange rock and housing developments and quiet and the yellow orange light of the sun on the edge of America falling behind those same hills to dive in the ocean, foam and gloam. Getting out was a great way of getting out anything inside me that was just too much. After a few hours of wandering through the concrete steppes, I'd be little more than tired, and glad to set my body down in a comfortable chair indoors while the light moved from outside to in. The next day would be new, and I would deal with what it brought.
But today, tonight, the light is already in, and there's nothing outside but darkness all around, which pushes things inside instead of drawing them out.
I don't feel like talking. I don't feel like walking. I don't feel like dealing with you. I don't feel like reading or bleeding or heeding advice, I don't care if it's true. So hold off your questions and feel-good suggestions. There's nothing that, now, seems appealing. It's not that I'm callous. I don't wish you malice. It's just that I don't feel like feeling.
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