Hanging on precariously to odd conicals is getting a little tiresome. Living on the edge has its charms only as a bi-yearly affair. If you are doing it every minute everyday, it’s time to shake off the boredom. A general sense of claustrophobia and desperation is setting in, and for no apparent reason. Either I’m woefully off my rockers this time, or there is something going on here. In any case, not having the answers is not particularly helpful. I’m done pursuing happiness; if you are trying too hard, it’s probably not worth it. You’ve got it all messed up anyway. An extended holiday is just what I need. Things are weighing a bit too heavily on the soul, or something. Sometimes, it’s ok to run. And I need to. Fast.