right now my apartment feels like my prison. it puts a spell on me where i can't bear to move for anything in the whole world. it makes me wait until all the food places are closed (at least the ones that deliver). i keep my shoes on, my jacket on, and i stare into space like i'm deep in thought. i wish.
it doesn't want to let me go. My stupid ass studio apartment even keeps me from going to my car to grab my smokes.
just like how a thermos keeps hot shit hot, and cold shit cold... it keeps an awake anti up, and a sleeping anti in a coma. and whenever i'm not home, i'm drawn to it, and it pulls me back in with it's gravitational pull. and if i were independently wealthy, this would all just be fine with me.
i've had this spell cast on me before, in other apartments. where i'd peek between the horizontal blinds at the sunlight, and just wallow in the filthy feeling of 0.00% motivation that the curse gives me. sometimes i can't shake it for days.
a friend told me that this apartment doesn't feel as though anyone lives here. it feels like i'm sorta staying for a while, like someone's guest. i didn't get what she meant then, and i'm not going to pretend i do now. it just seemed relevant, and oddly accurate.
i should see if moving all the furniture around helps,
and i totally would.
but i'm cursed.