This. I want this.
Winter is coming
I need blankets
I’ve been awake since 5. My mind racing with all that needs to be done before my departure.
Vladmir Nabokov describes it best: No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.
A friend recommended “French Milk” and I was reading it in the waiting room yesterday and this page made me snort.
"So many Frenchmen I see have the kind of good looks that make them seem irritatingly entitled to blow jobs."
Researchers have found that having frequent sex strengthens your immune system. Source
Well this explains my being unwell.