There is an anxiety. Perhaps it could be more accurately described as melancholy, but I've been drinking this cup of coffee. I'm listening to the Beach Boys' Pet Sounds, Wouldn't It Be Nice? I have to move today. I have no car. I have to be at work. You see, I've been what most psychologists would call "depressed" for the past seven months or so. Maybe it's been longer; I don't really feel like counting. And now, things are coming together. There's Lee. There's the new place. There's the band. But there's so much farther to go. A month ago, I was 100% certain that I needed to be back in Madison, and now I'm doubting myself. Four months ago, I landed on my parents' doorstep, an emotional wreck, nearly destroyed by the circumstances of my life. Without a doubt, I'm much better now than I was then, but I can't help but be nagged with the feeling that if one of the scaffolds quickly dissolves, I'll collapse again. I already know I'm emotionally investing too much in Lee, but how can you say no to what you feel? It's not as though I'm going to declare any burning love that consumes me; I recognize that we just don't know each other that well. But we do share a certain sparkle. Someone just tell me I'm worrying too much, because I am. I get it from my dad. So I'll keep on working, singing wouldn't it be nice; but it's already so nice. In another year, I will look back on these moments and be nostalgic - I know it already. The future can be such a curse sometimes.


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