Sometimes it doesn't matter how much thought-provoking American TV drama you watch; or the amount of low light emitted by bulbs of the fairy variety that are positioned strategically in your room in halls. The nagging feeling of discontent cannot be displaced by a filling meal, or soothed by the calming tones of chill out tunes.

It occurred to me earlier on, just as I was reaching for the door handle to my bedroom, that it doesn't matter how far I travel or where I go: a part of me will always be susceptible to these bouts of feeling 'a bit odd'. The longer I wait around for a revelation, a cure, a magical elixir, the more disappointed I'm going to be. Because really, I can't do anything about it. Sometimes can't articulate how you feel or why you're feeling that way, and that should be okay. Even if it does mean sitting on my arse conjuring up justification as to why I should have another chocolate bar or how its perfectly acceptable not to venture out of my halls all day.

In other news, I have some random ideas floating around.

Sugar rain
Flecking the window pane
Like childhood grazes from playground games
A spattering of scabs in a straight line
Only this time
They're droplets, and I'm much older
I like to see the effect I have upon their form
As I pull the window shut
And one bleeds into another.

There's been a lot of rain here recently. No, really, there has. That's not a metaphor for once.
I worry I'm too self-absorbed.