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Today at work I thought how much I just wish it was over so I'd get back home. The same happens during the week at lectures. I'm waiting for the evening and the moment I can go back home. Why? In the end, there's nothing waiting for me at home. I get home and roll around in boredom and misery. 

I think the autumn's getting on me again. 

I feel like at the moment I'm not even living. I'm waiting for evenings in hope for the days to pass. It's not living. It's just trying to struggle through the days and weeks in hope that something will eventually come. 

It's like I'm waiting and I don't even know what for. 

That's silly isn't it?