Wellington Street

In which we take a stroll down a very strange lane.

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Unknown Location "The Non-Thing"

“I really tried this week. I really did. I got plenty of rest, ate all the meals I was supposed to have. I even went for a walk in a local forest preserve. But I can't seem to gather my thoughts. I get halfway through making a sandwich and have to check what I put on it. Just this morning I woke up and went to my window and looked outside at the street.

There were a few cars parked. The sun was only just rising. It was gray and cold looking. My vision clouded, and I zoned out. Staring at nothing. Focusing on nothing. By the time I came to, my left leg had fallen asleep and my right leg was aching. I woke up at seven, and didn't come back until nine.

I read somewhere that zoning out is a sign of stress. Our brain is trying to get us to stop so it can rest. I don't know what is bothering me. I don't feel much of anything. I feel hot and cold, like the heat coming off my computer. Or the cold of the kitchen floor. I don't feel happy or sad. I just feel numb.

Empty.

I keep a notepad next to my bed. For ideas. Every morning I check it to see if I scribbled something in it. Last few days I have drawn the same picture over and over again. I have a bottle of ink for crafts. I had grabbed it while cleaning out an old house. When I wake up, my fingers are stained black, like I had been working with my hands. And every morning there are more pictures.

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