The same way people feel about hair, I feel about the walls of this apartment. They are both able to hold onto unwanted memories until they are destroyed. I'm excited to move out of this neighborhood, although I am not at all familiar with the neighborhood I'll be moving into. Perhaps it will give me a chance to learn new things and literally get out of my bubble. mlnnnnl says there are a lot of things there that I’d enjoy. I have not looked too closely or deeply, as I'm nervous about the wide roads that I know are common in that area.
Last night I spent a bit of time cleaning up the coffee table. I was very tired and did not want to spend minutes organizing notebooks and small ephemera, so I left everything on my desk. As I was reading my copy of L'Histoire d'une Âme, I was shamefully unable to shake off the feeling of resentment. It goes away once a question comes into mind: When was the last time you reflected upon how truly blessed your life is? It is now clear that my feeling was due to the realization of my own immense ingratitude and gluttonous desire for all the graces of the great white Lily - a fundamental misunderstanding of (or unwillingness to understand) the importance of "the delightful simplicity of the daisy." St. Thérèse writes:

"It seems to me that if a little flower could speak, it would tell simply what God has done for it without trying to hide its blessings. It would not say, under the pretext of a false humility, it is not beautiful or without perfume, that the sun has taken away its splendor and the storm has broken its stem when it knows that all this is untrue. [...] She knows that nothing in herself was capable of attracting the divine glances, and His mercy alone brought about everything that is good in her."

How ungrateful have I been! An entire life, I'd say, marked by ungratefulness. My life has been very blessed. I have two parents who, despite their own hardships to deal with, showed me the importance of curiosity and creativity. Although I do not have it in my person at the moment, the copy of Don Quixote that my dear father gifted me as a kid, even before I was fully able to understand its contents or the letter he wrote to me in the inner cover of the book, remains a blessing in my heart. So do the countless recipes and songs my mother sang to me. So does the constant love, affection, and support from my beloved. So does the company of my little Henry. I am very blessed, yet my mind always returns to the darkest moments I have lived. Even when the day continues being filled with Love, I remain stuck in that moment, festering in all the negativity. I truly had not realized how ungrateful I had been until now. I think I have been waiting for my life to become perfect before allowing myself to be grateful for it. What a foolish condition to place upon gratitude. There will always be something to mourn or to fear, or something that I wish had happened differently. But there has also always been Love surrounding me. I stare at the wounds with such intensity, that I forget the hands that tend them. There is so much I have been given - a life which I had thought was defined by loneliness and emptiness - all this time, looked through the narrowest window! I would like to become worthy of receiving it. Now I am able to discover somewhere new. I don't know what it'll mean to me yet, but I can't wait. I think it will give me the opportunity to shed my ever-unsatisfied fibers.