There's just too much out there. So in a word or two, I'm almost speechless. Almost. There's little more I can do to explain what's going on than to simply detail the whole incoherent mess in writing. Yet as time does not permit such a release, I realize that there's just more to be forgotten when I finally spill.

Where can I rest? Only in You.

I wonder what would happen if everyone really thought about what they felt and just said it. Think of all the drama that would result. Of course, there's also all the drama that would be prevented. I'm willing to bet that it would be a good thing in the long run though.

I'm feeling

poetic, yet speechless
sore in the legs
restless and lazy (at the same time)
more tired than I should
like saying more than I let on
unprepared
ready to prove something
socially inept
like I need a break. again.
the need to take smaller bites
an urge to drive as far as my gas tank will take me
a little sheepish, in retrospect
growing pains
like I'm constantly missing something
like I've been sitting on my hands too long
blessed

I'm feeling sleepy.