Empty

I hate this. There is this giant empty spot in my chest somewhere. I'm urgently hungry all the time but there is nothing around that my mouth wants to eat. My specific plans (such as when, actually, I'll leave) stay nebulous in my head so I'm spending time laying in bed, seeing the rain on the windows in my periphery while I read. I have a sense that there are things that still need to be done, but they'll take some creativity or at least some extended concentration so I don't so them and that adds a nagging sense that I'll soon feel panicked. I don't want to go to Barterfaire anymore. If I'm going to go home, I just want to go home.