Swings
It starts again.
I don't know how to start, so I stare at my hands, resting on the keyboard, not poised as they should be. They're dirty, they're cut up. Five hours of tearing up boxes and playing with knives will do that to you.
There are things to do. I want to do all of them, now. And if I can't do that I don't want to do any of them. I seem to live within a life dependant on inertia. If I get started, through some whimsy, I will keep going until I fall down for some reason or another. Interuptions can be deadly in this case. I stop, and chances are I'm stopped for a while. If my inertia is not supported by thoes around me I become stagnent. I loose all ambition and I become lifeless. I want to get started, but sometimes I need a push.