Not feeling great today. Woke up achy and I’m attributing it to the candy I ate before bed. I have gained weight, I know I have. It’s hard when my mood is so scrambled. I think, I want to lay down and die. I think, I should go outside. I think, mmm, I want a drink. (Anyone notice how much red wine Presbyterians drink? Good thing I’m not crazy about it.)
It’s hard to write when the emotional reserve is gone. I’m not sad, I’m not happy, I’m just.
Vladmir Nabokov wrote “No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.”
It is against Malakoa Policy to ever be bored, so I consider myself at the highest, or at least the mediumest level of toska. I haven’t a way to change it or to renew myself right now. More tomorrow. I keep promising something better, but I’m not sure it will be. One kiss each for each one of my readers.