three.two.one.zero.

3 bookshelves, 2 dogs, 2 people, 1 turtle, 1 fish, 0 bedrooms.

That is the state of our apartment.

I keep wondering how my life happened to become this. I mean that with no negative connotation. It’s just that so much has changed, and I can’t quite pinpoint when it all happened.

I keep thinking about the decisions (mine or not) that have led me to being here. Just like this. Sitting on a couch in a constantly 80-degree apartment with a puppy on my lap and an unstill spirit.

I’m finding myself more and more alone these days as summer winds down and activities are fewer. It is relaxing to a point.

I love Pickle like crazy, but having a puppy means never truly being alone. Even when I am off somewhere by myself (a rare occurrence anyways), I worry about the puppy at home. I forget what it was like to come home from work and be by myself in my little room in the basement. Dare I say I almost miss it? (Not the crazy landlord, of course)

I think I’m mostly just grumpy that my roommate has a boyfriend. We used to do things together—like everything. Now it’s just me and Pickle. I don’t know how to solve this. I’m losing motivation to do things I love that I’m so behind on—writing, painting, knitting…the works. Praying to find a way to make it all work.

What a lazy spirit I am. Yet I cannot rest.