Spent like, three hours this morning, reading in bed. And haven’t done anything that was remotely mentally extraneous since then. I feel really listless and tired, not wanting to do anything or go anywhere or see anyone, while simultaneously feeling frustrated by my solitude. It’s really quite terrible, but I can’t find how to bring myself out of it either.

I guess escapism is the best thing for me temporarily, so that must have been why I spent all that time reading… lets me forget myself and my seemingly hopeless circumstances. Maybe I should go see a movie.