Good morning, people. It’s Sunday, and I’m awake. That’s about all I can say. The sky is gray, I’m a bit low, and that’s about it.

We went out shopping as usual. I saw something I liked, I don’t even know what it was, but put it back with the thought of “you don’t need that, you won’t use that up north”. Considering it was probably an article of clothing, that idea is faulty as fuck. Shawshank‘s weather this week has been pretty close to mine, simply without the added humidity. And then I got mopey about the fact that I’m not up there yet.

I came back in January with the intention of coming back up in the summer, and I have done absolutely nothing to make that happen but say “it’ll happen”. And every fucking day it pisses me off a little more.

Back in the day, when I was still crafting custom My Little Pony toys, I went through a similar problem with one of my last commissions. It didn’t pique my interest like some others did, so it was never the project I reached for first. To be honest, I was also going through a pretty bad depressive stage, and was loathe to do anything, really. It took me a month longer than usual to finish, because I would look at the project, feel bad that I wasn’t working on it, and then lose any desire I had to finish it.

I see similarities in packing to leave Rhode Island. I can’t start. Starting anything big completely cripples me. And this is a HUGE thing. Florida was HUGE. Moving north seems…. HUGE-ER.

There’s no reason for it to be HUGE-ER. I tried to use the logic of, well, I’d know people in Florida. But that’s not true, because I’d know people up there. Moving is just HUGE because it brings about more things to start.

Then I feel bad that I’m not packing and I feel worse over the fact that even feeling bad doesn’t make me start doing something. And all I want to do is just do something, anything.

But I don’t want to start.