Dissatisfaction

[sincere]

For no particular reason, dissatisfied with the world in general and my writing in particular today. I assume this is the Summer Slump visiting again. Also probably not helped by the fact that any day now I have to pack literally my whole room into bags and boxes, because not only am I going back to Albany in a week and a half, but once I'm gone my mother is having every floor in the house torn up, so all our stuff has to be stored away downstairs for the duration of the construction.

What's wrong with our house the way it is? Sane people don't destroy their houses every other year. Our living room is amazing and revolutionary and brand new, she rebuilt the whole damn wing of the house no more than three years ago, and she's totally destroying it now.

I won't recognize my house by wintertime.

I feel like my writing/stories should be more... dark?