For some time there was an unusual welter of indecision and plans were made, broken, re-maid, remained, maimed and discarded. Confusion did not reign. It whimpered off in a corner and the odds and ends of life went on. Eventually, insomnia ruled over insanity and the lumpen swag of history, refusing to be left entirely, was mothballed and chaptered and temporarily left to stand.
Our protagonist has differed little from the start. She lies and loves and loathes and writes and finds these things so integral to her character that they must be done. They will do regardless. Half a million words writ in the half-awake and refusing to be let go. Lost nonetheless but leaving a memory of a possibility of the potential of, of, of a something. Somethings are made to be pursued or perused.
As ever, she has been in a perpetual state of bored not-busy-business with a side order of half-arsed self education, self discovery, and any number of other masturbatory practices. She has also worked and been promoted to a job she was already doing and taken on other tasks that will make her look interested and thoroughly employable on her next résumé. She has chosen a future that she is relatively confident in and is absolutely certain that her plans will change and that things will happen - as they are wont to do. About this she is sanguine.
She has taken steps to ensure a less pained future and will take more and more as the days wander on. She is confident with Plan A though it pushes the time of Plans B and C that little bit further away. However, better to be done and done with.
Here we shall leave the protagonist and here she may stay though the ties are loose and doubt is a constant.