Summers fill me with haunting malaise. Stuck. The listlessness seems justified but contemptible. Doldrums rive the despondency.
Some days I am so stricken with nausea and silence that conversation never begins.

How difficult it is to be centered when the foundation will be abruptly ripped from you in the coming seasons.
Summer seems to house my most sickening times.

I can only hold myself accountable and in awe of how little objectively changes, that the change centers upon your perception, and is rendered fruitless within the scope of your actions - which are only lacking, forever lacking.
I can only wonder how I easily fought through the malaise in days past.