Life between travel, is a little-too-boring. I wonder why I constantly need something to do in order to be happy. When I don't have sustained distraction, the mood barometer swings to an uncomfortable bottom, and the emptiness inside threatens to consume me. I compensate by making sure that life is full to the point of overflowing. So that when I sleep, I'm too tired to dream. Sometimes it works, sometimes - like today - I'm dangerously bored. Methinks something self-destructive looms on the horizon.