The best people don’t think about life; they just do it. At the moment I feel like I’m wasting too much of my life thinking – thinking about feelings and reasonings and questions. All the thinking in the world cannot alter what is actually happening. I want to do something. I am tired of thinking. All the thinking renders me powerless. Or I think because I feel powerless. Either way I am impotent and ineffective. I’m acted upon rather than motivating the movements of my day. At one time love felt fun; at one time it killed me; now it is all of those things but shrouded in boringness. Dying is boring; recounting my heart-make and heart-break is boring; wanting more is boring; hoping is boring; loving is boring. The trouble is that I’m too loyal to my heart and to human goodness and to the power of faith to drop this love like so many sensible people would do. In my world love conquers all. That’s why I write romantic dramas. I can’t see beyond the page to a time and space where things end badly, where lovers go their separate ways, where love isn’t enough. Whether it proves to be enough or not, in my world it cannot be any other way. So maybe I am cursed by my own way of thinking. Nevertheless I am transitioning to a place of resignation, propelled by fatigue and boredom.