Nothing compares to a quiet evening.

Why is it that I KNOW that cleaning my room and doing all this functional shit will (after it’s done) make me feel better, yet still sit complacently and wallow in my dissatisfaction?

because every time that I actually do something, the dopamine is a flood.  I’m picking cans up off the ground, and putting them in a bad, and I feel like I’m fucking rolling.

anyway, the point of the story was that I used to have a bunch of cans on my floor.