But the rainy, honey, sunlight outside is a heartbreaking siren.
This is my last article ... possibly ever?
Probably not, but I can't control the winds of opportunity.
Like any good American, I Googled eyelid spasms.
The internet diagnosis: stress.
What? No. I'm not stressed.
I mean, I get stressed. But overall, I know everything is underway.
I'm the opposite of a procrastinator, I front-load my work.
The worst kind of stress is the kind that makes you think
that a breath of fresh air is a distraction,
or that listening to a person is too time-consuming.
That kind of stress makes you inhuman.
At this hour, I desire to be packing up from a long day at the
beach with my love. At the golden hour when it gets windy
and you have to put a jacket on over your wet swimsuit and hair.
Until my body realizes that I am actually not stressed anymore,
and until I finish this last project,
here I sit, with my eyelid contractions, soaking up the indoor shadows.
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