Snowflakes

-The snow falls against my little apartment. It sounds like rain and rouses me from my sleep. There’s not much I want to do these days. Even my appetite waxes and wanes. I spent most of the day trudging through the snow to work, to the dentist here, then to work, then home and then home again.
I drink too much here. I’m sure it has something to do with my dreams. They have a tendency to be more elaborate even while I wake several times a night. Freud would have said that my waking life was sexually lacking. I think Linklater would simply say that I prefer my dreams. At the moment, I’d agree.
I feel the impression of home sickness, as the snowflakes fall.