I desperately hope this Melbourne trip of mine greets me extremely quickly, because my closet is unhappy. I’ve been picking pieces of clothing up here and there, but the thought of a trip to somewhere just for the shopping is getting me anxious. I’ll want more time there. I’ll need more money. Maybe the anxiety isn’t as simple as that. 13 years of routine has been lost in my past and I’m a little afraid. For 3 days a week, I sit around at home and contemplate what I’m going to do next week on my days off. I need a hobby, other then the Sims, or sleeping in. I appreciate those that take an interest in me; wanting to spend my endless hours with them. Yet, I’m still dissatisfied. In between stages are horrid.