I borrowed and finished reading Hard-Boiled Wonderland and The End of the World by Murakami over the weekend. It’s been a a few months since I read something for fun.
I don’t feel like myself. I work pretty hard during the week and sleep a lot over the weekends. I don’t feel sad, but I do feel hazy. Like I’m constantly forgetting something. Out of sorts.
Frustratingly complacent.
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