f[un]comfortable

Lethargy grips my thoughts; so strong a hold for such a weakening force. The will to move forward strains and shouts its desire, but blanketed by this comfortable fog, I cannot hear the cries. I'm wrapped in the safety of myself. A false security, as it's also the most dangerous place to be, prone to panic, criticism, and seemingly always on the verge of self-loathing. But interruption knocks, and in the moment there is purpose. It isn't much, but it's enough to get me started.