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It's not necessarily a bad anxiety. It's not a omigodi'mlosingcontrolandI'mallaloneandI'mgoingtoexplode anxiety. It's a something's-going-to-happen anxiety, or maybe a I-want-something-to-happen anxiety. It is also a lonely anxiety, thoughpart of it, as always, is out of the need for someone else to affirm that I do indeed exist. Maybe, it's because if something does happen, I'd like someone to share it with.
What are you doing right now? Do you feel anxious too? What brought you to read this rantis it the middle of the night for you too? Do you really care?
I was dead tired earlier tonight and now I am more awake as each minute passes, although this writing is somewhat soothing. Writing is always healing. I hover online to see if anybody else notices me. I should do my homework, and I really really don't care. Whatever chemical or precognition or neurotic twinge or lack of sleep or any combination thereof that is causing this is telling me there is something far more important, and ultimately, it will not matter whether I have read Ghost at the Heart's Edge in its entirety or not. Perhaps that I feel like I am at my own heart's edge is enough.