Restlessness

I'm tired.  I'm very tired.  And unlike usual, it is not from a lack of sleep.  Well, I assume that plays into it a bit too, but it's really not the primary cause.  Actually, I have spent most of the day doing next to nothing.  Or rather, being productive to an extent, but in the most boring of senses.  I've been lying around here and there, words flashing before my eyes all day.

While the rest is nice and much appreciated, I must admit, it is wearing on me.  Believe it or not, this is becoming boring.  And so, as a result, I want to curl up and sleep and not wake up for three days.  This would let me catch up on the sleep-debt and make some sense out of life and generally feel better...in all senses of the word.  But no, I know myself and I know that such rest is, alas, impossible for me.

I'm twitchy and unstable.  I want to do something, I want to move...but I have nothing to do and nowhere to go. So I lie here some more, while my body begins having issues adjusting to the temperature of my surroundings, and I wonder if I may not, in fact, have some deadly disease.  Realizing full well how unrealistic this is, my mind continues to paint vivid images of horrible maladies and most painful deaths.

Thus I remain, listlessly, only barely trying to stay awake, waiting for food to assuage the begging of my stomach for nourishment, and lazily ponder how pathetic I have truly become.  Because certainly, if I so desired, I could get up, and I could go places and I could do things.  But I know full well that I am not going to, so I once again resign myself to the oppressive warm of the room and the monotonous trickle of water, waiting for the hour after dinner to come, waiting to sleep once again and wake up another morning.