Perhaps it's the Snow Show, perhaps it's the wine, almost certainly have SOMETHING to do with reading Lonely Planet guides on travels routes that for some reason touched me deep inside. While waiting for the show to started I paged through travel guides and a unfamiliar wonderlust embraced me.
I have always been aware of my happiness and or or the lack thereof and the causes of it. Yet, I feel like I don't know anymore. Is this happiness? Is this lukewarm existence what I have to look forward to?
Is this an existential crisis? Or perhaps that in my mind of minds I know what is coming and stuff refuse to admit it to myself?
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