It's way too cold down here, in the basement. I get the feeling, though, that it's half that sort of cold that comes from the inside.

I'm restless. I feel this way, sometimes--as if there's something I must be doing, somewhere I must go to. The feeling that I want to run. To see something. To just glimpse some sort of beauty that I've not seen before.

I suppose everyone feels this way at some time or another. Otherwise people wouldn't travel, or invent things, or feel at all as if life is worth living. Restlessness is a godsend, in a way. But at the same time, it can be so damned frustrating, especially when you have no clue what it is you want to be doing. It's like a fire with no seen cause. You keep searching and searching for the kerosene, but you just can't find it.

And, in the end, perhaps there's nothing to be found.

I do have things I'm supposed to be doing, sure. Huge essay due on Tuesday and all, but it's Sunday. Hard to motivate when there's that one day between you and the due date. Yes, I am a slacker through and through. But it's good for me, I'm sure.

Maybe that's what I'm so flighty about, ultimately. Finals are in two days, and I have homework that needs to get done. However, I really doubt that's the cause. Usually I panic over homework, not have this undefinable flighty sensation. This restlessness is something I think should come before a trip or before I write the next great American novel, heh. It's a personal want to do something, it's not something subject to the whims of IB.

So if I feel like writing, why don't I? It's a complex question. On one hand, I feel that undeniable need to write and the pressure of others to do so. On the other, it's so ultimately frustrating. I have trouble coming up with plots that go somewhere--everything comes as bursts of imagery, not continous stories. I don't have time. I feel too pressured a lot. And, ultimately, maybe I'm trying to show up the need, like a heroin junkie staring down the needle, thinking "ha ha, I'll beat you yet."

And so on.

Well, more spider solitare for me. . . And perhaps homework, argh.