Life mostly just is, right now. I work, I read, I think, and I occasionally write stories in my head and am too lazy to transfer them to typed words. I'm happy enough. Well, rather, I'm content generally, and genuinely happy sometimes and I like it like that.
I'm tired a lot, but that's never been quite newsworthy.
I don't seem to have much of an active social life. It's quite fine by me.
I think I shall continue with what I've been doing for the past two hours, which has mostly been listening to Vienna Teng in a state of content but wistful melancholy and convince myself a nap is not a good idea. I got up two hours ago and got twelve hours of sleep dammit.