My life is falling apart again, or so it feels. Everything is a race to something that is rarely ever done on time. Every day a struggle to find some peace and space of my own. I would take a week long vacation every other week, if it were possible. Though even the vacations take a week from which to recover. There must come a time in the lives of many as they age and age in which death becomes the only thing new or interesting left to do.
Neither greedy nor satisfied. Here I am, there I run. There are books that I should rush to re-read.