The road. Winter. Lack. Lack of everything that’s important. I try to think of the "road." I can’t. I’m utterly exhausted. I’m only really going because of the weather. The prospect of wind, snow, and my flashes on the beach kept me awake.
I feel like I’ve got used to living a prosaic life. Even if memories and a flood of events are stimulating they get easily forgotten. Becoming so accustomed to such reality takes away some sort of piled-up memories and records of certain moments.