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January 13, 2011
I am tired most days. The kind of tired that only gets worse after sleep. The kind of tired that numbs you to everything but the overwhelming sense of exhaustion.

Sometimes, though, I have disorienting flashes of my old self. Little tingles of magic at the tips of my fingers that make me smile and yearn for the power I've hidden deep beneath my apathy. But then I find myself wallowing in that hazy indifference, and I go back to sleep.

I want to sleep for years and years.

I want to wake up now. 

I'll find myself again. Eventually.