August 16. Lying awake, desparate about how empty I feel. J listened to the people around her at the concert she was at on Sunday and felt heartened by how much better our conversations usually are, but I’m not convinced. The irrepressible desire to say something that would otherwise go unsaid, and that gets lost in the general ordinariness, seemingly not worth talking about. It runs on empty. Tonight. Maybe not yesterday, but tonight. If I’m not restless about anything, I get even more restless.