I'm in one of those moods where there's nothing wrong with my life, yet my brain keeps insisting that there is. Or maybe it's my heart that's doing the insisting. You know that feeling?
"My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery - always buzzing, humming, soaring, roaring, diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What's this passion for? " Virginia Woolf
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