More

I want more. More what, I don't know. But I want it. More of it. More fun, more clothes, more sun, more shoes. More cleaner, more better, more milker (there isn't ANY milker in the refrigerator). You get it. More.

Maybe.

And maybe not. Maybe I don't want more. Maybe I want less. Less mess, less hassle, less responsibility, less more. Fewer books definitely. My book shelf is overflowing.

There.

There's a good point. I want fewer books because I haven't room to store all the books I have. While at the same time I want MORE books. Because I haven't anything to read currently. Perhaps this sums up my life: I want less of what I don't want and more of what I do. And sometimes, like with books, they are the same thing.

Only I can't quite figure out what it is I want more of and what I want less of REALLY.

More time? More sleep? More time asleep? Yes. I'll say yes to that, definitely. I'll take more time asleep.

Though it isn't that really; though more sleep would be VERY nice.

What it is is something else. Something elusive.

I summed it up for my husband tonight with this sentence:

I want to stand in the ocean, just where the water meets the sand, at night, the black sea in front of me the night sky vast with white stars arching overhead.


It's like that; but it isn't that.

But it is something more.