Waiting in 2020

I’m on my second cup of coffee. Then I’ll start the tea. Maybe I’ll try sunlight. Maybe even a walk.
My old vices aren’t enough to calm me down, and happiness seems to be just around some corner that I can never make it to. Dragons’ tails slipping under every crack and whispers from every window.
I dreamed of Rachael last night. Or, at least, what she’s become. I said to Courtney, “Dream Rachael is the time I should have spent meaningfully. Dream Rachael is the goals I should have gone after. Dream Rachael is . . . the things I ought to have done better. It’s all of my regrets and shortcomings wrapped up into one tiny brunette.”
I think that’s more pithy than accurate, but it’s as close as I can seem to get at the moment.
I’ve too much time on my hands these days. And that makes me use it less and less to my own benefit. I left my old job. No new job is forthcoming. I ought to be doing various things, but I cannot seem to find the strength.
All I want to do is to sleep.
I have all the time in the world, but all I can do is to pitifully demand more time.

One of the gifts I brought back with me from America was a weighted blanket. Even when I’m not in bed, I feel something like that on me all the time. I feel as if I’m carrying so much weight. Every inch of me is dragging and bending under strain, and I don’t know what to do.