Lump Sum

I've been without a journal for the past week or so. Not being able to write, with my hands, has been a strange experience. Having all these thoughts in my head I'd like to write down, but can't. The only reason being pure laziness...

To describe what it is I feel I'm missing... when you have something for a time, and then it leaves you. The sheer transience of just being alive. The part that is most irksome is that I know I'm missing it, because I know what it's like to have it. Being without it is something like being a machine... always the same responses to everything, the same head nods, the same dull expression, the same cliches, repetition of repetition of repetition, lack of

Poor Emma is trying to scratch her ears but can't because the cone is in the way. Not to be melodramatic, but isn't everything in our lives a reflection of ourselves in some way?