The highlight of my week was that my sheets got changed.  Instead of the normal off-white color, they're now gray.  Sheets from my dorm room that I wanted to use more to break them in, to feel smoother and more comfortable.  This change, however, minute, was the defining moment of the week. The weeks progress, pass by without much occurring.  I wake up, feeling a bit more tired each day.  Go to work.  Work eight hours in some job seemingly so contrived it's amusing.  Leave work for home.  At home I read for an hour or two, maybe exercise, maybe play a video game.  Somedays I see Tim and/or Paul.  I always have a good time, I'm not sure about them though.  I think they do, but I still have trouble reading how people feel.  It's impossible to do.  Eventually they have to leave (we all have our separate lives) and somehow we say "farewell for now."  None of us is very good at saying goodbye, so it's relatively awkward to leave, or so it seems to me.  Sometimes I feel like I push them out the door, even though i didn't mean to. Everything's becoming a rut, predictable and mundane.  Even if I try to vary things, it's repetitive.  I feel the need to do something rash, new, unpredictable.  Yet I don't know what to do.  I've done everything there is to do around here, anywhere.  I'm also fearful of the consequences, if any.  I don't know, if ever, when I won't fear them.