Feeling a sense of cognitive dissonance, impending doom coming from all directions at once. Sense of identity changing, morphing into something other than it once was.
The bedroom is kind of reflecting that. It's odd how centric the room is becoming; I can feel it becoming a sort of extension of my walls of the self. It's not entirely there, but it's closer somehow.
I've changed. The last year-plus has had an effect on who I am, moreso than any other period in my life that I can remember. I'm both more in need of human companionship and less desiring of it than I have ever been.
There is a blankness. Sectors to be written. Volumes to be inscribed.
A time of caution, but a time of motion. Risk and reward, crime and punishment.
I cannot be all things to all people. I can only be some things to some, and one thing to one.
The white rabbit beckons...