15/365

Everyone is sick: I sit here celebrating Christmas in a swirling miasma of phlegm.

It was a relief when we headed out for a walk in the cold, snow-covered woods. It was the same conversation as always: plans, money, music.

I keep saying the same things over and over again. I'm bored. Life should be better. I need to change something. I don't know what.

And I keep not saying the important thing.