Good morning, good night. Tired and restless I struggle on. Never quite satisfied, never quite content. An evening of accomplishment and you want to have fun, an evening of fun and you want to accomplish. I come home and it’s dark, everyone’s in bed. But I’m still up in the darkness, wondering why. Questions taunt my mind, questions of things I always forget, never wanting to entertain the answers that just add to the suck of time from my already busy life. Questions of a home changed and none too eager to go back, but at the same time a longing for it; questions of friends who don’t write back–first it was a week or two, now a month or two. They’ve all but forgotten me and I’ve all but forgotten them. But how can you forget such an important part of your life? They say you can never go home again. And I believe it. Conversations I yearn to have, but they just don’t materialize. Carefully worded questions I want to ask of situations I can never comprehend. It’s all mystery to me. Won’t somebody tell me? Why does it have to be so difficult. Why do I have to be the one? I used to think getting somewhere was more important than the journey. But I’m beginning to favor the journey, more likely than not because of a distaste with the destination. Maybe I should stop asking and go to bed like everyone else. Just like everyone else.